GIFT  or 

Ella  Sterling  Mighials 


p>| 


m 


THE 

SONS    O'   CORMAC 

AN'   TALES   OF   OTHER 
MEN'S   SONS 


BY 


ALDIS    DUNBAR,  r'^'=^^''^'    ^"^ 


IV/TH  8  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  MYRA   LUX  MO  ORE 


LONGMANS,    GREEN,   AND    CO. 

91  &  93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK  « 

LONDON  AND  BOMBAY 

1904  ^ 

[All  rights  reserved] 


v'^^ 


^6. 


'•vt^-rl;^:  .' 


mrror 


•w 


TO 
THE  LADS   a  ME  HEART 


»     -m 


CONTENTS 


I.      THE  CONSTANT  GREEN  JERKIN  . 
II.  THE  HARVESTIN'  O'  DERMOND    . 

III.  EIVEEN  COLD-HEART 

IV.  THE  QUESTIN'  O'  CLEENA      . 
V.  ETHLENN  O'  THE  MIST   . 

VI.  WILD  APPLES  AN'  GOLDEN  GRAIN 
VII.  KING  DIARMID  AN'  p6l  . 

VIII.  FAIR  AILINN 

IX.  THE  SERVIN'  O'  CULAIN 
X.  HOW  CORMAC  LOST  HIS  KINGDOM 
XL  WIND    AN'   WAVE    AN'   WANDHERIN 

FLAME 

XII.  THE  KING  O'  THE  THREE  WINDS 


PAGB 
I 

27 

51 
69 

87 

121 

173 
213 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 

**  Then  out  into  the   ivorld  ive  go^^  says 

Conan  blithely         ....  Frontispiece 

**  Nayj^  says  Cleena,  ^^  come  ye  over**       .      To  face  page     8i 

**  Quick  he  led  her  to  the  shore,  an  pointed 

to  the  ivar ships  lyin    dark  under  the 

moon** »>  »»      lOO 

**  She  sat  hraidin    a  ribbon  into  her  dark 

hair**  .  .  .  .  .  „  „      lo6 

"  What  shall  I  do  nvith  ye  ?**  he  asked, 

pu%%led  dreadful    .  .  .  ,  „  ,,131 

^*  Came  toivard  him**     .  ,  .  .  „  ,,144 

"  There,    standin*     in    a    door nv ay.,    10 as 

Princess  Morna**  .  .  .  ,,  „      168 

**  Rodan,    cheerin*     Eimer     avith     brave 

ivords** »>  »,      239 


Sure^  day  in  an'  day  out^  ''tis  heatin'  me  poor 
weary  brains  I  am  ;  for  no  sooner  am  I  afther 
hearin  the  pattherin'  6*  feet  comin*  toward  me 
than  ^tis  up  an'  hide,  or  tell  a  tale  o*  heroes  in 
times  past.  When  an'  ever  the  day  7/  come  for 
them  to  tire  is  more  nor  mortal  man^  let  alone 
one  workin'  in  this  garden^  can  he  afther  gues- 
sin\  'Twill  be  a  restful  day,  that,  when  the 
masther  packs  the  whole  armful  o  them  off  to 
school. 

Whist,  now  I  What's  that?  Ah-h,  now, 
the  swate  voices  o*  them  laughin'  among  the 
hushes.     Sure,  'tis  me  self  is  caught  entirely. 


rflfenv 


I 

THE   CONSTANT  GREEN  JERKIN 


M 


THE  SONS  O'  CORMAC 


THE    SONS    O'    CORMAC 


THE  CONSTANT  GREEN  JERKIN 

[*'A  story  is  it?  An  the  grass  a-perishin' 
for  the  want  q'  ,wathei:i;i;  ^this^  :  very 
evenin' !  Well;  hWve  yer  Will,  an'  tell 
the  masther  yerselves  what  was  afther 
hindherin'  me  from  me  work."] 

'TwAS  back  o'  the  years,  in  the  days  when 
the  Little  People  were  a  power  in  the  land, 
an'  there  was  fightin'  a  plenty  with  the 
Danes  an'  their  like  —  that  Cormac  with- 
out a  Kingdom  lived  by  the  Lough  o'  the 
Eagle  with  his  three  sons. 

Now  these  were  Dermond  o'  the  Bow, 
an'  Eiveen  the  Swift  —  an'  the  youngest 
of  all,  that  was  Conan  o'  the  Long  Arms  ; 
an'  some  called  this  last  Conan  the  Singer, 


4  THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

for  he  had  skill  In  singin'  more  than  any 
man  on  the  shores  o*  Moyle,  an'  the  birds 
came  an'  sat  on  the  trees  to  listen  when 
he  played  the  harp. 

I  tell  ye,  Dermond  o'  the  Bow  was  great 
at  the  huntin',  an'  could  send  his  long 
arrows  across  the  Lough  o'  the  Eagle,  an' 
strike  the  wild  ducks  that  swam  in  the 
reeds  >;  but  Cormac  his  father,  that  had 
lost  Ws  kingdofn;  by  raison  o'  the  Danes, 
could 'sit  at  tKe  door  o' his  cabin  an' bring 
down  the  sparrow-hawk  that  flew  across 
the  fir  trees.  An'  the  fir  trees  grew  where 
the  reeds  ended. 

An'  Eiveen  the  Swift  could  run  beyant 
the  deer  in  the  forest,  an'  turn  them  to- 
ward his  brother,  in  the  chase;  but  King 
Cormac,  for  all  his  white  hair,  was  swifter 
still,  an'  could  keep  abreast  o'  the  wind 
as  it  blew  over  the  green  grass,  an'  sent 
the  little  waves  to  break  on  the  shores  o' 
the  Lough. 

An'  Conan  stayed  by  the  cabin,  an* 
brought   in  wood  for  the  fire,  an'  roasted 


THE    GREEN    JERKIN  5 

the  meat  when  his  brothers  came  home 
weary  from  the  hills.  But  when  they  were 
off  in  the  early  mornin',  an'  King  Cormac 
sleepin'  before  the  fire  on  his  bed  o'  rushes, 
Conan  would  sit  by  the  door  with  his  harp, 
an'  sing  till  the  fishes  poked  their  heads 
out  o'  the  Lough  to  hear  —  an'  even  the 
old  king  himself  could  do  nothin'  greater 
nor  that. 

So  time  went  past,  an'  King  Cormac 
gave  up  livin'  because  o'  being  so  old ; 
an'  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  leave  to 
his  three  sons  beyant  his  blessin'  an'  the 
shabby  old  green  jerkin  that  he  wore. 

**  'Tis  the  chiefest  treasure  I  have,"  says 
he,  "an'  I  give  it  yees  with  me  blessin'. 
Let  none  scorn  it,  or  'twill  shame  him  in 
the  end."  An'  with  that  he  died,  an'  they 
buried  him  on  the  shore  o'  the  Lough,  with 
a  great  pile  o'  stones  to  mark  the  spot. 

So  when  the  night  came,  Dermond  an' 
Eiveen  lay  by  the  fire;  but  Conan  the 
Singer  sat  in  the  moonlight,  playin'  an' 
singin'  to  break  the   very   hearts   o'  those 


6  THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

that  heard ;  an'  even  his  two  brothers  were 
a-sorrowin',  for  all  they  were  stout  an'  fierce. 

An'  says  Dermond  o'  the  Bow  :  ''  Give 
me  the  green  jerkin  ;  for  'tis  I  am  the 
oldest,  an'  should  wear  it  for  a  sign  o' 
mournin'  for  King  Cormac  our  father." 

An'  Eiveen  the  Swift  brought  it  from 
the  corner  where  it  was  hangin',  an'  slipped 
it  on  his  brother's  arms.  But  Conan  kept 
on  playin'  in  the  moonlight,  an'  lookin 
down  the  path  o'  the  stars  in  the  waters 
o'  the  Lough. 

An'  as  he  sat  there,  there  came  a  great 
noise  o'  folk  ridin'  down  the  mountain  side, 
rattlin'  the  stones  under  the  feet  o'  the 
horses  an'  jinglin'  their  spurs,  an'  callin' 
one  to  the  other.  An'  at  the  head  o'  the 
line  rode  two  together. 

One  was  a  little,  shrivelled  old  man,  with 
eyes  that  burned  like  coals  o'  fire  in  his 
face ;  an'  his  hair  was  thin  an'  grey ;  an' 
while  he  was  no  giant  like  King  Cormac, 
yet  he  wore  rich  armour,  an'  a  crown  on  his 
head.     An'  beside  him,  on  a  white  horse, 


THE   GREEN    JERKIN  7 

came  the  fairest  girl  that  had  been  seen 
in  that  place  for  many  a  day.  Her  dress 
was  o'  the  green  silk,  with  a  mantle  o' 
scarlet  hangin'  from  her  shoulders  ;  an'  her 
hair  was  shinin'  yellow,  so  that  one  could 
scarce  see  the  band  o'  wrought  gold  in  it, 
tellin  her  for  a  real  king's  daughter.  An' 
behind  came  servants  on  horse  an'  afoot, 
dressed  in  bright  cloth. 

The  moon  was  shinin'  till  'twas  light 
as  day,  an'  they  rode  up  to  where  Conan 
was  singin',  an'  sat  on  their  horses  lookin' 
at  him.  Then  his  brothers,  hearin'  the 
noise,  came  to  the  door  an'  stared  out ; 
but  Conan  sang  on,  never  carin'  for  naught 
but  the  pile  o'  stones  by  the  shore. 

Then  the  old  man,  that  was  a  king,  spoke 
to  Dermond  o'  the  Bow. 

**  Is  it  here  that  is  the  dwellin'  o'  Cormac 
without  a  Kingdom  ?  " 

**Ay,"  says  Dermond.  "Yestermorn  it 
was  that  same  ;  but  this  night  he  lies  be- 
neath the  cairn  o'  stones  that  is  on  the  edge 
o'  the  Lough." 


8  THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

''  Then  is  a  sthrong  man  passed,"  answered 
the  old  man.     ''An'  we  may  turn  back  as 


we  came." 


''An'  who  may  ye  be?"  asked  Eiveen 
the  Swift,  pushin'  forward. 

"  King  Murdough  am  I,  an'  this  is  me 
daughter  Maurya,  whom  I  would  give  to  the 
champion  who  shall  help  me  against  the 
Danes.  An'  Cormac  was  the  sthrongest 
man  of  his  hands  in  all  the  land,  though 
his  hair  was  white.  For  that  would  I  have 
given  him  me  daughter,  an'  he  should  have 
ruled  me  kingdom  for  me.  Then  would 
naught  have  hindhered  me  from  spendin'  me 
days  in  search  of  deep  learnin'." 

An'  the  princess  nodded  as  he  spoke,  but 
her  eyes  were  on  Conan. 

"Try  me,"  says  Dermond,  throwin'  back 
his  black  hair,  to  look  more  closely  at  the 
princess. 

Says  King  Murdough :  "  But  'tis  not 
alone  a  sthrong  man  I  must  have.  'Tis  the 
sthrongest — an'  one  with  wisdom  in  his  heart 
to  rule  men." 


THE   GREEN    JERKIN  9 

"Try  me,"  says  Dermond  again,  'Tor 
I  am  the  first-born  son  o'  King  Cormac, 
an'  none  can  stand  up  against  me  an'  live 
to  tell  of  it." 

When  King  Murdough  looked  at  him,  an' 
saw  what  a  fine  sthrong  fellow  he  was, 
afther  a  bit  it  seemed  to  him  that  this  might 
prove  a  champion  to  his  mind  ;  so  he  called 
a  servant  to  bring  forward  a  horse. 

"  Come  to  me  court  for  three  days,"  says 
he.  **  An'  if  ye  stand  trial  o'  strength  with 
the  best  o'  me  men,  an'  do  as  ye  boast — then 
shall  ye  be  me  son,  an'  rule  for  me." 

Then  Dermond  mounted  the  horse  an' 
rode  off  up  the  mountain  with  King  Mur- 
dough— an'  the  princess  beside  him,  with 
the  golden  hair  that  made  light  shine  in  the 
air  as  she  turned  to  look  back  at  Conan, 
where  he  sat  playin'  his  sorrowin'  for  his 
father. 

Now  afther  Dermond  o'  the  Bow  rode 
across  the  mountains  to  where  King  Mur- 
dough held  court,  he  had  a  fine  room  given 
him,   an'   all   the   walls   were   covered  with 


lo       THE   SONS   O'  CORMAC 

silver  cloth  ;  an'  two  servin'  men  went  afther 
him  wherever  he  walked,  to  carry  his  bow 
an'  arrows.  An'  the  princess  sent  him  a 
sword  an'  shield. 

So  the  first  thing  in  the  mornin',  King 
Murdough  called  him  out  in  the  courtyard, 
an'  bid  him  show  how  far  he  could  shoot. 
An'  Dermond  shot  across  the  castle,  an' 
killed  a  pigeon  that  perched  on  the  wall 
beyant.  An'  'twas  himself  was  more  sur- 
prised than  any,  for  never  before  had  he 
done  that  well. 

"  You  have  shot  eastward ;  now  try  to 
the  west,"  says  the  princess. 

So  he  looked  where  the  forest  was,  to 
the  west — an'  never  had  he  seen  so  clear — 
an'  there  was  somethin'  stirrin'  among  the 
bushes.  Dermond  bent  his  bow  an'  took 
aim,  an'  the  arrow  flew  over  wall  an'  stream 
— an'  a  deer  leaped  up  in  the  air,  an'  fell 
dead  in  the  open. 

King  Murdough  nodded  his  head  when 
he  saw  that,  for  he  was  thinkin'  that  this 
was  sure  the  man  he  needed ;  an'  he  led  him 


THE   GREEN   JERKIN  ii 

in,  an'  made  a  great  feast  for  him.  But 
the  servants  o'  the  princess  stood  aside,  an' 
laughed  at  his  old  ragged  shoes,  an'  at  the 
faded  green  jerkin  that  was  nigh  on  too 
small  for  his  shoulders. 

"  *Tis  a  scarecrow,  an'  no  prince  at  all," 
says  one. 

**  Put  him  up  on  the  castle  wall,  an'  he'll 
fright  the  Danes  as  he  is,"  says  another. 

Now  Dermond  was  a  proud  man  o'  his 
birth,  an'  he  pretended  not  to  hear  them, 
thinkin'  o'  the  fine  things  he  would  have 
when  he  wed  the  princess.  So  the  first  day 
went  over  without  more  trouble. 

Then  on  the  second  day  came  the  best 
fighters  o'  King  Murdough's  men,  an'  Der- 
mond had  never  been  so  sthrong  in  fightin' 
as  he  was  then.  Down  went  every  man  he 
put  hand  on,  an'  none  could  stand  up  afther. 

That  night  there  was  another  feast;  an' 
more  nor  before  the  maids  that  served 
Princess  Maurya  passed  behind  his  chair 
an'  laughed  to  each  other  at  his  poor  dress. 
An'  sleepin'   that   night,  an'  wakin'  in  the 


12        THE   SONS   O'  CORMAC 

mornin',  he  was  hot  with  anger  at  them. 
He  took  the  sword  that  the  princess  had 
given  him,  an'  cut  a  great  piece  o'  the  silver 
cloth  from  the  wall  o'  the  room  an'  made 
himself  a  cloak  of  it. 

"There's  none  '11  dare  to  spake  of  it 
to-morrow,  when  I've  married  the  king's 
daughter,"  says  he,  an'  he  threw  the  old 
green  jerkin  back  o'  the  door. 

When  he  came  to  the  field  where  he  was 
to  show  his  strength,  there  was  no  man 
willin'  to  match  with  him.  Then  King 
Murdough  gave  word  to  blow  the  horn  on 
the  castle  wall,  tellin'  all  who  heard  that 
here  was  a  great  champion,  an'  that  who 
wanted  could  try  fightin'  with  him. 

At  last  Eocha,  a  great,  stout  man,  that 
was  chief  cook  for  the  king's  table,  put  his 
head  out  o'  the  door. 

''Fight  will  I,"  says  he.  ** Greasy  apron 
against  silver  doublet,  an'  see  which  wins." 

Dermond  looked  at  him  scornful  like,  for 
he  was  sure  o'  whippin'  him,  an'  he  stepped 
up  bravely.      An'  there  before  he  knew  it. 


THE   GREEN    JERKIN  13 

sure  'twas  Dermond  o'  the  Bow  was  lyin'  on 
the  stones  o'  the  courtyard,  beaten  fair  an' 
square,  under  the  very  eyes  o'  the  princess. 

An'  then  others  took  heart  an'  came  up 
to  fight,  while  poor  Dermond  had  no  heart 
to  battle  with  more  o'  them,  an'  no  under- 
standin'  how  all  this  had  come  about. 

**  Fine  feathers  make  the  peacock,"  laughed 
the  girls.  **  Where  now  is  yer  green  jerkin, 
Dermond  the  Champion  ?  " 

So,  all  sudden  like,  it  came  to  him  what 
his  father  had  said,  an'  he  rushed  off  to  the 
room  where  he'd  slept,  lookin'  for  the  jerkin  ; 
but  no  sign  of  it  was  to  be  seen  near  nor 
far.  An'  in  the  doorway  stood  the  princess, 
smilin'  at  him. 

"What  has  gone  wrong?"  she  asked. 

"Lady  Maurya,"  says  Dermond,  "me 
jerkin  is  gone,  an'  me  power  with  it.  Let 
me  go  from  here,  for  I'm  disgraced." 

"An'  have  ye  no  strength  o'  yer  own, 
lackin'  it  ?  "  asked  she. 

"Ay,"  he  answered,  "but  not  more  nor 
other  men." 


14        THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

'*  Then  here  is  a  purse  o'  gold,  Dermond 
o'  the  Bow,  that  ye  may  go  off  to  some  far 
kingdom,  where  ye  can  win  another  for  yer 
wife.     But  I  am  not  for  ye." 

An'  he  crept  out  by  the  low  door  at  the 
back  o'  the  castle,  an'  went  off  over  the 
hills  to  seek  his  fortune,  an'  came  back 
no  more. 

Now  while  these  things  were  doin'  in 
King  Murdough's  castle,  Eiveen  the  Swift 
an'  Conan  his  brother  were  livin'  quietly 
by  the  Lough  o'  the  Eagle.  Each  mornin' 
Conan  took  his  harp  to  the  edge  o'  the 
water  an'  played  a  lament  for  Cormac.  An' 
when  the  third  mornin'  came,  there  on  the 
cairn  was  somethin'  strange.  Conan  went 
to  see,  an'  'twas  none  other  than  the  green 
jerkin. 

He  called  out  loud  to  Eiveen,  who  came 
runnin'.     '*  What  is  it  ?  "  says  he. 

"  The  green  jerkin  has  come  back  with- 
out Dermond  in  it,"  says  Conan. 

**  More  like  that  he  has  been  here  an'  left 
it  for  us  while  we  were  sleepin',"  says  Eiveen. 


THE   GREEN    JERKIN  15 

**  Then  'twill  bring  him  no  luck,"  says 
Conan.  ''Did  not  Cormac  our  father  say 
that  whoever  scorned  it  would  be  shamed 
by  it  in  the  end  ? " 

"  I  will  wear  it  for  thought  o'  him,'* 
answered  Eiveen.  "An'  'tis  in  me  mind 
to  go  to  the  court  an'  visit  Dermond  an' 
his  princess." 

With  no  more  words,  off  went  Eiveen, 
like  the  wind.  Never  had  he  run  so  swiftly, 
an'  without  wearyin',  though  the  way  was  up 
hill  an'  over  rocks.  An'  when  he  came  to 
the  castle  he  gave  a  great  rap  at  the  gate. 

"  Who  stands  knockin'  ?  "  called  out  the 
guard. 

''  Eiveen  the  Swift,  brother  to  Dermond 
o'  the  Bow.     Let  me  come  in." 

Well,  the  guard  ran  to  Princess  Maurya, 
with  word  that  the  brother  o'  Dermond  was 
at  the  gate,  clad  in  the  same  old  green 
jerkin. 

**  Send  him  to  me,"  says  the  princess  ; 
an'  she  watched  the  door  close  as  she  heard 
his  feet  comin'  iiear.     But  when   she  saw 


i6        THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

him,  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair  to  hear 
what  he  should  say.  An'  Eiveen  the  Swift 
looked  at  her  with  cold  eyes,  an'  thought 
how  well  he  would  like  to  be  in  his  brother's 
shoes. 

'* Where  is  Dermond  o'  the  Bow?"  he 
asked. 

*'  Gone  to  seek  his  fortune  in  other  lands," 
says  Princess  Maurya. 

**An'  have  ye  a  champion  betther  nor 
him  ?  "  says  Eiveen. 

'*  Nay,"  says  she.  '*  He  was  thrown  to 
the  ground  by  Eocha,  who  is  the  cook. 
I  will  have  no  cook  for  a  champion,  but  a 
right  king's  son,  even  though  he  be  poor." 

"Then  will  I  try  me  fortune,"  says 
Eiveen. 

An'  with  him  it  went  as  it  had  with 
Dermond.  The  first  day  he  threw  down 
each  man  that  came  against  him  ;  an'  first 
of  all  was  fat  Eocha  the  cook  sent  sprawlin' 
among  the  stones. 

But  when  the  maids  saw  Eiveen  they 
laughed  again. 


THE   GREEN   JERKIN  17 

"A  pretty  set  o'  champions  come  for 
our  princess,  with  their  old  green  coats  ; 
when  she  wears  nothin'  poorer  nor  silk  an' 
stuff  o'  gold." 

Eiveen  says  never  a  word,  thinkin'  how 
he  would  turn  them  all  away  into  the  cold 
when  he  was  married  to  Princess  Maurya. 

An*  the  second  day  he  shot  an  arrow 
across  the  castle  wall,  an'  killed  a  hawk 
that  was  carryin'  off  a  chicken  from  beyant 
the  river.  An'  again  he  cut  a  lock  o'  hair 
from  the  head  o'  Cleena,  daughter  o'  Fear- 
gus  the  Black,  as  she  bent  to  draw  wather 
at  the  ford. 

But  naught  held  back  the  girls  from 
castin'  looks  at  his  old  coat,  in  the  hall, 
an'  saying  to  each  other — pretendin'  to  be 
whisperin' — to  see  how  well  King  Cormac 
had  done  for  his  sons. 

Then  Eiveen  grew  hot  with  rage,  an' 
went  off  to  his  bed.  An'  all  night  he  tossed 
about,  thinkin'  o'  the  gay  silken  an'  velvet 
clothes  that  the  other  men  wore  as  though 
they  were  naught  worth  speakin'  of.     An' 


i8        THE    SONS    O'   CORMAC 

when  it  began  to  grow  light,  he  rose  from 
his  bed  an'  tore  down  a  piece  o'  gold  cloth 
that  hung  in  the  doorway,  an  made  a 
doublet  to  wear. 

**Sure,"  thought  he,  ''it'll  all  be  mine  by 
to-morrow.  'Tis  but  borrowin'  me  own." 
An'  the  jerkin  he  left  lyin  by  the  window. 

Then  afther  a  bit  he  came  runnin'  back 
for   it — for  the    fine   gold    doublet    was   all*" 
split   up    from    his    bein'    thrown    by    King 
Murdough's  groom.     But  the  jerkin  was  not 
where  he  had  left  it. 

'*  An'  are  ye  beaten,  too  ?  "  asked  Princess 
Maurya. 

*'  That  am  I — an'  a  worse  fate  befall 
Kevin  the  groom  for  trippin'  me  on  the  ' 
pavement,"  answered  Eiveen.  So  she  turned 
away,  an'  sent  him  a  purse  o'  money  by 
the  hands  o'  Maive  the  Fair — one  o'  the 
maids  that  had  laughed  at  him  in  the  hall. 
But  in  Maives  heart  rose  sorrowin'  for 
Eiveen's  ill  fortune,  an'  when  she  opened 
the  gate  to  let  him  pass  out,  she  gave  him 
her    hand    an'    followed    him,    an'  together 


THE   GREEN   JERKIN  19 

they  went  out  into  the  world  to  win 
fortune. 

Then  it  so  happened  that  a  second  time 
Conan  the  Singer  rose  in  early  mornin'  an' 
found  the  old  jerkin  lyin'  on  the  grave  o' 
Cormac. 

"  Scorn  has  come  again,"  thought  he. 
**  Now  'tis  me  turn  to  wear  it  for  love  o'  him 
who  lies  by  the  shore.  An'  it  shall  go  hard 
with  one  who  takes  it  from  me." 

Then  he  took  his  harp  on  his  arm,  an' 
went  away  up  the  mountain  pass,  where  the 
eagle  was  callin'  to  its  young. 

At  last  he  came  to  the  castle,  an'  sat  down 
by  the  gate,  an'  struck  his  harp,  till  all  the 
men  an'  maids  ran  to  see  who  was  there.  An' 
even  the  Princess  Maurya  stepped  down  from 
her  great  chair,  an'  went  to  the  courtyard. 

When  she  saw  Conan,  her  eyes  laughed 
with  joy,  an'  she  bade  him  enter,  an'  herself 
led  him  to  King  Murdough. 

''  Here  is  a  champion  again,"  says  she. 

**  Nay,"  says  Conan,  ''  I  came  to  search 
for  me  brothers." 


20       THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

"They  have  gone  to  far  countries,"  an- 
swered the  princess,  ''to  find  fortune.  Will 
ye  try  yer  own  ?  Have  ye  a  mind  for 
fightin',  an'  for  bein'  me  father's  champion  ?  " 

"That  have  I,  though  it  has  never  come 
to  me  to  fight  with  men,"  says  Conan ;  an' 
he  bent  down  low  an'  kissed  her  hand. 

Then  King  Murdough  gave  him  lodgin' 
for  the  night ;  an' — by  order  o'  the  princess — 
'twas  a  small  bare  room.  An'  in  the  mornin' 
Conan  came  into  the  courtyard,  an'  looked 
at  all  the  men  who  were  there  waitin'  to 
fight  with  him. 

"  An'  did  Dermond  meet  these  .•* "  he 
asked  o'  the  king. 

"  That  he  did,"  answered  King  Murdough, 
"  an'  gained  the  masthery  for  a  day." 

"  Then  will  I  do  as  well  as  he,"  says 
Conan. 

So  Princess  Maurya  brought  out  a  sword 
an'  a  shield,  an'  stood  on  the  broad  top  o' 
the  castle  wall  to  see  the  fightin' ;  an'  Conan 
beat  all  the  warriors  back,  like  a  brave  lad. 

Then,  when  King    Murdough    made   the 


THE   GREEN   JERKIN  21 

feast,  Conan  sat  beside  the  princess  in  his 
old  jerkin,  that  had  taken  many  a  cut  that 
day ;  an'  afther  a  while  he  chanced  to  look 
up  an'  see  that  the  maids  were  makin'  jest 
o'  him. 

**Why  are  ye  laughin',  me  girls?"  he 
asked  ;  an'  the  princess  waited  to  see  what 
would  come  of  it  this  time. 

"  Because  of  the  ragged  coat  ye  wear," 
says  Cleena.  **  Have  the  sons  o'  Cormac 
but  one  jerkin  between  them  ?  " 

"Let  none  scorn  it,"  says  Conan,  "or 
'twill  shame  him  in  the  end.  For  a  token 
o'  mournin'  an'  for  love  o'  Cormac  do  I  wear 
it ;  an'  I  fear  to  meet  no  man  because  of  it, 
though  he  be  dressed  in  silks  an'  satin." 
An'  he  turned  to  Princess  Maurya,  an' 
thought  no  more  o'  their  foolish  words.  An' 
all  night  he  dreamed  o'  her  golden  hair, 
until  the  room  shone  with  the  rememberin' 
of  it. 

In  the  mornin'  he  was  ready  for  another 
trial ;  an'  when  they  brought  him  the  bow, 
he  bent  it  bravely,  an'  sent  his  first  arrow 


22        THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

whirrin'  through  the  open  window  of  a  cabin 
that  stood  beyond  the  ford,  an'  clipped  out 
a  candle  that  burned  on  the  shelf  within. 
An'  for  his  second  shot,  he  slew  two  great 
hawks  that  flew  above  the  castle  wall,  an' 
together  they  fell  into  the  river. 

So  that  trial  was  passed,  an'  Conan  went 
into  the  great  hall,  an'  sat  at  the  feet  o'  the 
princess,  an'  played  an'  sang  until  all  the 
noise  o'  the  court  ceased  for  love  o'  his 
song. 

Yet  in  the  evenin',  at  the  feastin',  the 
king's  men  spoke  scornin'  words  o'  his  torn 
jerkin. 

"Will  ye  go  against  the  Danes  in  it.-*" 
asked  Feargus  the  Black.  **  Then  may  they 
see  that  ye  are  but  a  poor  man's  son,  an' 
no  prince." 

*' To-morrow  shall  ye  take  that  word 
back,"  says  Conan  o'  the  Long  Arms,  "  for 
no  man  shall  make  a  jest  o'  Cormac  the 
King  while  me  arms  have  strength." 

An'  all  through  the  night  Conan  dreamed 
o'  the  blue  eyes  o'  Princess  Maurya. 


THE   GREEN   JERKIN  23 

When  the  mornin'  came,  Feargus  stood 
waitin'  in  the  yard  for  Conan  to  come  to 
him  ;  and  Princess  Maurya  watched  to  see 
what  should  befall.  Then  Conan  came 
from  his  bed,  an'  on  his  back  was  the 
green  jerkin,  an'  in  his  hand  the  ^word  o' 
the  princess. 

An'  there  was  no  chance  at  all  for  Feargus 
the  Black,  though  he  was  the  best  man  in 
the  court  o'  the  king.  Sure,  his  sword  went 
flyin'  through  the  air,  an'  fell  outside  the  wall. 

When  they  saw  that,  there  was  no  one  left 
to  risk  fightin'  with  Conan,  an'  the  king  led 
him  into  the  great  hall  with  his  own  hands. 

**  Now  will  ye  have  Oona  o'  the  White 
Hands  to  be  yer  wife  ;  an'  room  to  live  here 
in  me  castle,  with  ten  pieces  o'  gold  for 
every  day,  and  silk  to  wear ;  or  will  ye  live 
in  a  cabin  outside  the  wall,  and  wear  yer  old 
jerkin,  like  a  poor  kerne  ?  " 

''Outside  the  wall  is  for  me,  if  Princess 
Maurya  will  be  there  too,"  answered  Conan. 
''  But  me  jerkin  will  I  wear,  an'  none  but  her 
will  I  wed." 


24        THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

**  Nay,  if  ye  take  her,  together  may  yees 
wander  into  the  world,  for  I  give  no  gold 
with  her." 

*'  Then  out  into  the  world  we  go,"  says 
Conan  blithely,  holdin'  out  his  hand  to  her, 
an'  she  put  hers  into  it  with  gladness. 

**  An'  call  ye  that  wisdom  ? "  says  King 
Murdough.  *'  Would  ye  rule  men  afther  that 
fashion  ?  " 

"  Who  should  rule  men  but  him  that  rules 
his  own  ? "  says  Conan.  An'  the  princess 
says  **Ay." 

**  Then  have  ye  won  yer  rulin'  fairly,"  says 
King  Murdough,  '*an'  shall  have  her  an'  the 
kingdom.  An'  as  for  the  jerkin,  'tis  yer  robe 
of  honour  at  this  court ;  an'  who  says  aught 
ill  of  it,  to  him  shame  shall  come." 

So  King  Murdough  made  great  rejoicin's, 
an'  gave  his  daughter  to  Conan,  callin'  him 
Conan  o'  the  Kingdom,  for  a  sign  that  he 
was  the  greatest  man  in  it. 

An'  so  far  went  the  fear  o'  his  name  that 
neither  Dane  nor  any  other  enemy  dared  set 
foot  in  the  land  for  many  a  day,  lest  they 


THE   GREEN    JERKIN  25 

might  catch  sight  o'  the  green  jerkin  which 
gave  power  to  the  long  arms  o'  Conan. 

[**  But  why  did  the  princess  put  Conan  in 
the  Httle  bare  room?"  **  Ah,  when  we 
guess  why  she  did  that,  we'll  know  all 
o'  the  tale  that's  untold.  An'  now  be 
off  with  yees,  till  I  wather  me  green 
grass."] 


II 

THE   HARVESTIN'   O'  DERMOND 


II 

THE  HARVESTIN'  O'   DERMOND 

[''  No,  I've  naught  to  tell  yees  the  day,  so  out 
o'  the  barn  with  yees.  Here's  all  the 
harness  to  be  rubbed  bright  before  the 
masther  goes  out  dhrivin'.  What  ?  'Tis 
rainin'  ?  An'  yees  can't  be  afther  takin' 
yer  walk?  Ay!  ay!  Well,  sit  ye  all 
down  beyant  in  the  corner  there,  an'  I'll 
be  thinkin'  about  it."] 

Ye'll  be  mindin'  how  Dermond — him  that 

they   called    Dermond   o'   the   Bow — afther 

Princess    Maurya    gave   him    the    purse   o* 

gold,  slipped  out  o'  the  little  low  door  at  the 

back  o'  King  Murdough's  castle,  an'  was  off 

without  no  more  words  to  no  one  ?    Sure,  he 

was  mighty  shamed  to  have  been  tumbled 

over  by  a  fat  cook,  like  a  bag  o'  fresh  ground 

meal  on  the  floor  o'  the  mill.     So  he  turned 

39 


so       THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

toward  the  hills,  an'  walked  on  for  many  a 
mile,  not  lookin'  to  right  nor  to  left,  nor 
even  mindin'  that  he  was  still  wearin'  the 
cloak  o'  silver  cloth  that  had  brought  him 
disasther. 

'Twas  early  mornin'  when  he  left  the  little 
small  door  behind  him  ;  but  'twas  nigh  on 
night,  an'  the  shadows  runnin'  long  down 
the  hillside,  when  he  first  thought  on  where 
his  feet  might  be  afther  takin'  him.  He'd 
little  heart  whatever  to  be  goin'  back  to  the 
Lough  o'  the  Eagle,  where  his  two  brothers 
were  livin',  to  be  lettin'  on  to  them  that  he 
was  beaten. 

**Nay,"  says  he,  "'tis  far  betther  to  be 
heedin'  Lady  Maurya's  words.  There's 
many  kingdoms  in  the  land  where  a  stout- 
hearted warrior  '11  find  fightin'  to  his  hand, 
an'  that's  where  I'll  win  me  a  princess  fairly 
for  me  wife." 

An'  that  was  brave  talkin',  for  Dermond 
had  neither  sword  nor  shield  to  his  side,  but 
just  his  long  bow  an'  a  little  sharp  knife  for 
cuttin'  up  meat. 


HARVESTIN'   O'   DERMOND     31 

Now  the  wind  was  beginnin'  to  rise  at 
his  back,  an  it  came  sweepin'  up  the  moun- 
tain side,  an'  he  had  to  stand  an'  meet  it 
a  bit,  to  keep  on  his  feet  at  all.  An'  all 
in  a  breath  his  gay  silver  cloak  was  caught 
by  the  gale  an'  torn  away  from  him,  an'  it 
went  whirlin'  in  the  wind  down  the  way 
he'd  been  comin',  where  'twas  darkenin' 
with  heavy  clouds. 

Then  he  looked  ahead,  up  the  Path  o' 
the  Rocks  that  he  was  climbin',  an'  at  the 
top  of  it,  where  the  way  turned  down  to 
the  valley  beyant,  he  saw  the  red  light  o' 
the  setting  sun. 

**  Betther  to  push  on  than  to  turn  back 
without  reachin'  the  top,  an'  all  for  the 
sake  o'  that  cloak  o'  bad  fortune,"  thought 
Dermond.  **  Silver  for  sorrow,  an'  I've 
learned  that  lesson  to  me  cost." 

So  up  he  went,  an'  the  light  kep'  growin' 
brighter,  until  when  he  stood  at  the  top  o' 
the  hill,  he  could  scarce  see  the  valley  before 
him  for  the  shinin'  o'  the  sky. 

'Twas  a  broad  valley,  that,  for  all  the  way 


32        THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

into  it  was  so  narrow  ;  an'  'twas  sthrange  to 
him,  bein'  no  place  that  he  had  ever  crossed 
in  his  huntin'.  All  around  it  were  steep 
hills,  with  sides  that  no  man  could  climb, 
barrin'  he  had  the  wings  o'  the  grey  hawk 
an'  the  bold  heart  of  it.  An'  beyant  the 
plain,  stretchin'  to  the  west,  was  a  deep 
forest.     But  nowhere  was  sign  o'  livin'  men. 

For  just  a  moment  he  looked  back  over 
the  road  he'd  come  by :  an'  as  he  did  that 
same  he  heard  a  small  chucklin'  laugh 
round  behind  him.  Sure,  he  turned  again 
in  a  jiffy,  but  all  that  met  his  eye  was  a 
glint  o'  somethin'  red,  down  among  the 
rocks  beside  the  path. 

Well,  he  was  afther  it  with  all  his  speed, 
but  never  a  bit  did  it  come  in  his  road, 
though  he  looked  every  way  at  once.  An' 
at  last,  when  he  found  himself  by  the  foot 
o'  the  path,  down  on  the  broad  plain,  for 
all  the  world  he  could  not  tell  by  what 
way  he  had  come  down  the  rocks. 

But  for  all  the  sunset  was  fadin'  fast, 
there  was  no  fear  o'  the  night  in  the  heart 


HARVESTIN'   O'    DERMOND    3^ 

o  Dermond.  He  looked  over  the  valley, 
an'  saw  far  off  where  four  oak  trees  grew 
close  by  each  other,  like  they  were  the  corners 
of  a  cabin  :  an'  when  he  reached  them  he 
thought  in  his  mind  that  there  he  would  sleep 
till  the  morn's  mornin',  supper  or  none. 

'Twas  dark  then,  an'  he  lay  down  on 
the  long  grass,  an'  soon  fell  to  sleepin',  an' 
never  woke  nor  stirred  till  'twas  far  past 
moonrise,  when  he  leaped  up  all  sudden 
like,  thinkin'  he  heard  his  name.  But  none 
answered  his  callin'. 

An'  as  he  stepped  close  to  one  o'  the 
oaks — that  which  stood  to  the  south  (an' 
'twas  that  way  he  would  have  taken  to 
return  to  the  cabin  o'  Cormac,  his  father) 
— he  heard  the  far-off  playin'  of  a  harp ; 
an'  it  came  to  him  that  'twas  Conan,  his 
youngest  brother,  was  touchin'  it.  So  he 
listened,  quiet  like,  an'  sure  enough  'twas 
a  lament  for  Cormac  without  a  Kingdom 
was  ringin'  in  his  ears. 

Then  right  close,  almost  at  his  feet,  was 
a  sound   like  a  little  small  voice   laughin'. 


34        THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

as  he  had  heard  it  on  the  Path  o'  the 
Rocks.  He  quick  reached  out  his  hand 
to  catch  whoever  it  was,  an'  went  creepin' 
toward  it,  till  he  touched  the  next  tree, 
that  was  toward  the  east.  An'  as  he  stood 
gropin'  round,  he  heard  other  laughin' — 
like  that  o'  the  maids  o'  Princess  Maurya, 
who  had  jeered  at  him  in  the  hall  for  wearin' 
the  old  jerkin  o'  King  Cormac,  for  which 
he  had  torn  the  silver  cloth  from  the  wall 
an'  made  himself  a  cloak,  an'  lost  his  power 
by  that  same. 

An'  a  girl's  voice  was  sayin' :  "  A  pretty 
set  o'  champions  come  for  our  princess,  with 
their  old  green  coats ;  when  she  wears 
nothin'  poorer  nor  silk  an'  stuff  o'  gold." 
An'  more  he  listened,  an  heard  the  voice 
o'  Eiveen,  his  brother  that  was  next  him  in 
years,  an'  that  o'  Princess  Maurya  answerin'. 
An'  the  small  voice  down  by  his  feet  chuckled 
again. 

By  now  Dermond  guessed  well  that  some 
spell  lay  on  the  trees,  makin'  his  ears  hear 
what  was  far  away ;  so  he  went  on  to  the 


HARVESTIN'   O'    DERMOND    35 

third,  which  was  to  the  north  o'  the  rest, 
an'  hearkened  ;  but  there  he  heard  naught 
but  the  sighin'  o'  wind,  an'  the  beatin'  o' 
waves  on  the  shore.  An'  he  knew  that  the 
sea  was  many  a  mile  beyant. 

He  thought  o'  the  Little  People  that  had 
favoured  Cormac,  his  father ;  an'  as  the 
moon  rose  higher,  he  looked  to  see  them 
under  the  branches  o'  the  oaks  ;  but  they 
must  have  crept  under  the  fallen  acorn  cups, 
for  not  a  red  cap  could  he  spy. 

At  last  he  put  his  hand  on  the  trunk  o' 
the  fourth  tree,  an'  that  was  west,  an'  farther 
up  the  valley  than  he  had  gone.  An'  seemin' 
as  if  'twas  comin'  out  o'  the  wide  spreadin' 
branches  or  the  flutterin'  o'  the  leaves,  he 
heard  the  speakin'  of  a  sthrange  voice  in  his 
ears  ;  an'  'twas  an  old  man's,  sayin' : — 

"'Tis  time  for  the  plantin'  o'  me  field. 
Heart  o'  me  life,  is  the  seed  ready  ?  " 

An'  the  one  answerin'  had  the  softest 
voice  that  had  ever  been  heard  o'  Der- 
mond.  Sure,  the  tremblin'  o'  Conan's  harp 
was  harsh  beside  it. 


36        THE    SONS    O'   CORMAC 

'*  Ay,  father,"  'twas  sayin',  **  an'  who 
comes  to  sow  it?  An'  when  will  be  the 
harvestin'  ?  " 

''That  shall  be  known  when  one  comes 
for  hirin'.  None  may  sow  that  seed  but  a 
man  without  fear  o'  fortune ;  an'  none  may 
harvest  it  with  doubt  in  his  heart." 

Dermond  was  listenin'  hard  ;  but  just  then 
a  cloud  passed  across  the  moon,  an'  the 
words  ended.  Long  time  he  waited  to  hear 
if  that  soft  voice  wasn't  speakin',  but  'twas 
no  use  at  all;  an'  at  last  he  wandered  out  ^ 
away  from  the  trees  an'  into  the  plain,  an' 
lay  down  on  the  open  ground  an'  fell  to 
sleepin'  again,  for  he  was  weary  with  all 
his  climbin'. 

This  time  when  he  woke,  'twas  with  more 
laughin'  in  his  ears,  an'  the  sun  shinin' 
bright  as  ever.  He  gripped  his  bow  tight, 
an'  sprang  to  his  feet  in  a  great  haste  ;  an' 
there,  standin'  a  little  ways  off,  was  a  girl, 
all  in  pale  green  like  the  young  birches  in 
the  heart  o'  spring,  and  the  laughter  was 
runnin'  over  her  face  like  ripplin'  wather. 


HARVESTIN'   O'   DERMOND    37 

Dermond  stood  dumbfounded,  for  he  had 
nigh  forgot  where  he  was,  an'  he  looked 
round  wondherin'  Hke. 

Then  says  the  girl,  that  had  never  moved 
away  at  all  from  where  she  was  standin' : — 

*'  'Tis  lost  ye  are." 

An'  Dermond  remembered  the  night,  and 
knew  it  to  be  the  soft  voice  o'  her  that  had 
asked  o'  the  harvestin'. 

**  Nay,"  says  he.  "O'  me  own  will  came 
I  here,  seekin'  fortune." 

''An'  what  like  is  the  fortune  that  ye 
seek  ?  "  says  she. 

**  To  find  a  kingdom  where  is  good 
fightin'  for  one  with  a  stout  heart  an'  a 
sthrong  arm  ;  an'  to  get  me  a  princess  for 
me  wife,"  says  Dermond. 

Then  the  girl  laughed  again,  an'  the 
sound  o'  that  was  like  wind  in  the  willow 
trees. 

"  'Tis  a  man's  thought,  truly  ;  an'  I  doubt 
not  ye*ll  find  kings'  daughters  a  plenty, 
foldin'  their  hands  an'  waitin'  to  have  ye 
come  an'  do  some  fine  fightin'  to  win  them. 


38        THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

As  if  that  was  the  bravest  work  for  a  man  ! 
Did  ye  expect  to  be  afther  findin'  yer 
princess  growin'  on  a  bush  in  this  rich  king- 
dom ?  "  an'  she  waved  her  hand  toward  the 
valley. 

** Where  she  is,  there  Til  find  her;  ay, 
an'  win  her,"  answered  Dermond. 

*'  Have  ye  no  fear,  that  ye  speak  so  bold  ? ' 
asked  the  girl. 

"  I  fear  naught  between  the  flyin'  clouds 
above  the  hills  an'  the  runnin'  wather  near 
our  feet,"  says  Dermond. 

"  An'  what  man  are  ye  ?  "  says  she. 

**  Dermond  o'  the  Bow,  eldest  son  o'  him 
who  was  Cormac  without  a  Kingdom." 

**  An'  for  me  name,"  says  the  soft  voice, 
'*'tis  Etain,  daughter  o'  Dughall  the  Wise, 
who  dwells  beyant  the  forest  to  the  west." 

**  An'  is  there  none  dwells  with  him  but 
yerself?"  asked  Dermond. 

**  Why  ask  ye  that  ? "  says  Etdin. 

*' 'Tis  time  for  plantin'  his  field,"  went 
on  Dermond,  hardly  knowin'  why  he  said 
it.     An'  Etain  looked  at  him  mazed  like. 


HARVESTIN'   O'   DERMOND    39 

"  How  knew  ye  that,  seein'  that  no  man 
can  tell  when  the  hour  comes  but  Dughall 
himself?" 

**  'Twas  at  moonrise  I  heard  himself  say 
it,"  answered  Dermond.  ''Yonder  among 
the  trees." 

*'  Then  must  ye  have  the  favour  o'  the 
Little  People,  for  'tis  risk  an'  peril  for 
mortal  man  to  pass  near  the  Four  Oaks 
o'  the  Valley  when  the  sun  is  high — far 
more  at  moonrise.  Will  ye  come  with  me 
to  Dughall?" 

"  Ay,  if  me  fortune  lies  that  road,"  says  he. 

**  That  is  as  ye  make  it  for  yerself,"  says 
Etain ;  an'  for  just  a  moment  she  stood 
lookin'  at  him,  an'  seein'  what  a  splendid 
fine  sthrong  man  he  was,  with  his  shinin' 
eyes  an'  the  black  hair  wavin'  far  down 
over  his  shouldhers.  An'  he  looked  at  her 
blue  eyes  an'  rose-red  lips  that  laughed 
whenever  she  began  to  think  of  anythin'  ; 
an'  there  was  no  more  rememberin'  o' 
Princess  Maurya  —  no,  nor  o'  the  maids 
that  served  her,  for  him. 


40        THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

Then  Etain  nodded  her  head,  an  turned 
an'  went  over  the  grass  toward  the  forest 
so  swift  that  Dermond  had  all  his  feet 
could  do  to  keep  pace  with  her.  There 
was  no  more  speakin',  but  just  followin',  as 
she  led  the  way  over  grass  hillocks  an'  into 
the  dark  wood. 

'Twas  more  nor  one  time  the  roots  came 
nigh  to  thrippin'  him  off  his  feet ;  an'  once 
he  saw  a  little  red  cap  under  a  fern,  an' 
heard  the  quare  laughin',  but  on  he  went, 
not  heedin'. 

Afther  a  time  it  was  in  his  mind  that 
the  trees  o'  this  forest  grew  in  straight 
rows,  as  they  had  been  an  army  o'  men 
standin' ;  but  just  then  Etain  turned  an' 
beckoned  him  to  come  beside  o'  her.  An' 
Dermond  was  not  slow  in  doin'  that. 

**  Are  ye  wise  in  thought  an'  speech  ? " 
asked  she. 

*'  No  more  nor  other  men,"  says  Dermond. 

**'Tis  well  ye're  willin'  to  own  it,  then. 
Are  ye  stout  o'  heart?" 

'''Tis  not  well  for  a  man  to  be  boastin', 


HARVESTIN'   O'    DERMOND    41 

as  I  found  to  me  sorrow,  but  ready  am 
I   to  serve  ye  with  two  sthrong  arms." 

"  Why  would  ye  serve  me  ? "  asked 
Etdin. 

**For  bein'  the  fairest  maid  in  the  land. 
An'  I  would  ye  were  a  right  king's  daughter," 
says  Dermond. 

'*  An'  if  I  were  ?  "  asked  she. 

**  Then  would  I  win  ye  fairly." 

"An'  bein'  none?"  says  she;  an'  as  she 
spoke  her  eyes  met  Dermond's,  an'  a  sudden 
fire  leapt  up  in  his  heart. 

"  Then  will  I  make  ye  one,  if  there's 
kingdoms  to  be  won  by  the  sthrong  arm ! " 

With  that  Etain  smiled,  well  pleased 
with  his  manner  o'  speech  ;  an'  she  says — 

**  If  ye  speak  as  fair  as  that  to  Dughall, 
then  will  ye  have  small  need  o'  me  wisdom. 
But  should  need  come  it  shall  all  be  for 
yer  helpin',  Dermond,  son  o'  Cormac.  An' 
now,  here  is  me  father's  house,  an'  I  bid 
ye  welcome." 

Sure  enough,  there  before  them  was  a 
long,    low   building    woven    mainly    o'    the 


42        THE    SONS    O'   CORMAC 

rushes.  But  round  it  was  no  sign  o'  servin' 
man  or  maid  at  all.  The  door  stood  wide 
open,  an'  Etdin  bent  her  sweet  head  an' 
stepped  inside,  an'  Dermond  went  afther. 

In  a  great  chair  by  the  far  end  o'  the  hall 
sat  Dughall  the  Wise.  His  hair  was  white, 
an'  his  long  beard  rested  on  his  knees ;  but 
his  eyes  saw  far,  an'  as  Dermond  came  nigh 
he  rose,  waitin'  on  Etdin,  to  see  what  she 
would  be  afther  sayin'. 

*"Tis  Dermond  o'  the  Bow,  son  o'  Cormac 
the  King,"  says  she,  **  come  to  hire  for 
seedin'  an'  harvestin'." 

Now  Dermond  would  have  said  nay  to 
that,  for  he'd  no  mind  for  such  labourin' ;  but 
her  eyes  were  fair  on  him,  an'  he'd  no  will 
o'  his  own  to  do  other  than  her  pleasure. 

**  Ay,  that  am  I,"  says  Dermond. 

Then  Dughall  looked  at  him  well,  an' 
says  he — 

"  Many  a  rash  man  has  spoken  as  ye 
speak,  an  has  tried  to  do  what  ye  may  fail 
in  ;  an'  no  man  has  yet  sowed  that  seed  or 
gathered  in  that  harvest,  else  would   there 


HARVESTIN'   O'    DERMOND    43 

be  a  rich  kingdom  where  is  naught  but 
wilderness." 

**  An'  how  may  that  be  ?  " 

"From  over  pride  in  wisdom,"  says 
Dughall,  most  bittherly,  **  in  the  day  when 
Oisin,  son  o'  Lua,  came  to  this  place,  an' 
would  match  his  craft  with  mine.  An'  not 
bein'  content  with  the  life  that  was  mine, 
I  made  wager  that  I  was  sthronger.  An' 
he  overthrew  me,  an'  laid  a  spell  on  all  that 
was  mine.  An'  naught  could  lift  it  till  I  held 
in  me  hand  a  grain  o'  ripe  corn,  that  had 
been  grown  on  the  mountain-top  yonder. 
Such  o'  me  men  as  were  willin'  to  try  the 
sowin'  an'  harvestin'  were  spared  me  for  a 
time,  but  the  others  he  turned  to  trees.  An' 
as  each  one  failed  in  the  task,  he  became 
a  tree.  Scarce  any  could  reach  the  slope, 
for  Oisin  angered  the  Little  People  against 
me,  an'  placed  them  as  guards  round  the 
base  o'  the  mountain,  where  none  might  pass 
their  land  in  safety.  Bran,  alone,  that  was 
chief  huntsman,  made  his  way  to  the  top, 
but  there  was  no  right  foothold,  an'  before 


44        THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

the  seed  was  planted  he  fell,  an'  was 
never  seen  more.  An'  well  may  men  call 
me  Dughall  the  Wise,  for  I  have  shown 
great  wisdom,  an'  lost  the  lives  o'  sthrong 
men." 

Well,  now,  Dermond  thought  an'  thought, 
rememberin'  the  sly  laughin'  o'  the  Little 
People.  Yet  it  seemed  to  him  that  there 
should  be  some  way  for  him  to  contrive 
success.     So  says  he — 

**  An'  where  is  this  mountain  ?  " 

Dughall  brought  him  to  the  door,  an' 
pointed  out  where  it  rose  toward  the  sky  ; 
an'  'twas  a  terrible  steep  place,  all  crags  an' 
towerin'  precipices,  an'  nigh  on  out  o'  reach 
o'  mortal  man,  had  there  been  no  Little 
People  guardin'  it  at  all. 

Then  a  thought  came  to  Dermond,  an' 
he  turned  to  the  old  man. 

*'An'  what  for  soldiers  had  ye?  Were 
they  sthrong  in  sword  fightin',  or  were  they 
betther  at  bendin'  the  bow  ? " 

"  Betther  with  the  sword,  Dermond  son 
o'  Cormac.     No  bowmen  had  I  barrin'  ten ; 


HARVESTIN'  O'   DERMOND    45 

all  whom  were  feared  o'  the  Little  People 
an'  became  trees." 

**  Ay,"  says  Dermond.  "Well,  'tis  ill 
thinkin'  o'  grave  matthers  when  one  goes 
hungerin'.  Have  ye  a  bite  o'  food  handy 
like,  seein'  that  'tis  many  hours  I've  been 
fastin'?" 

Etdin  laughed  at  his  plight,  an'  brought 
him  what  was  to  be  had — roast  meat,  an' 
cakes,  an'  mead  in  a  great  horn  ;  an'  when 
he  had  eaten  an'  drunk  the  last  crumb  an' 
dhrop,  so  that  her  eyes  were  wide  with 
wondherin'  at  his  appetite,  he  went  out  again 
an'  looked  at  the  top  o'  the  mountain,  while 
Dughall  the  Wise  went  back  to  his  seat, 
expectin'  little. 

But  Etain  stayed  near  Dermond,  an'  to- 
gether they  went  nigh  to  the  foot  o'  the 
mountain,  but  not  on  the  land  o'  the 
Little  People.  There  Dermond  measured 
with  his  eye,  an'  saw  that  the  place  closest 
the  mountain-top  was  a  juttin'  cliff  on  the 
side  o'  the  neighbourin'  peak. 

"  Have  ye  a  fine  cord  1''  he  asked  of  Etain. 


46        THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

**  How  long  ?  "  says  she. 

"  To  reach  from  the  cliff  side  to  the  moun- 
tain-top." 

"Nay,"  says  she,  **but  I  have  that  which 
will  serve  to  make  one."  An'  with  that  she 
let  down  her  hair,  an'  it  fell  all  round  her 
like  fair  golden  silk,  reachin'  her  sandals  o' 
fine  deer-skin.  An'  she  caught  the  little 
small  knife  from  the  belt  o'  Dermond  an' 
cut  through  a  great  handful  of  it.  Then 
Dermond  took  the  knife  an'  did  the 
same  with  his  own  hair,  cuttin'  it  where 
'twas  longest.  An'  together  they  twisted 
it  into  a  fine,  long  cord  o'  black  an'  gold 
colour. 

**  Now  bring  me  the  seed  to  be  sowed," 
says  he  ;  an'  this  time  'twas  Etain  sprang  to 
do  his  biddin'.  So  he  drew  a  straight  arrow 
from  the  sheaf  at  his  side,  an'  bound  seven 
grains  o'  corn  to  it,  all  tied  in  a  leaf  with  the 
end  o'  the  cord.  Then  he  rolled  up  the  rest 
of  it,  an'  started  over  to  scale  the  cliff  side, 
Etain  followin'  him.  At  last  he  made  his 
way  up  the  cliff,  to  where  was  a  little  small 


HARVESTIN'   O'    DERMOND    47 

shelf  o'  rock,  an'  there  he  unrolled  the  ball  o' 
cord  an'  steadied  himself  to  shoot. 

Then,  seein'  what  he  would  be  tryin',  Etdin 
called  out  to  him — 

**  First  try  the  shot  with  another  arrow, 
for  fear  o'  missin." 

"  That  is  right  wisdom,"  says  Dermond  ; 
an'  he  did  that  same,  an'  'twas  well  he  did, 
for  the  wind  whirled  it  past  the  mountain-top, 
an'  it  broke  on  a  rock  below.  But  when 
he  had  shot  twice  more,  he  had  the  way 
o'  the  wind,  an'  could  allow  for  it.  An' 
the  fourth  arrow  was  the  one  with  the 
corn  tied  to  it.  Dermond  aimed  it  sthrong 
an'  steady,  an'  sure  enough  it  struck 
deep  into  the  ground  on  the  mountain- 
top,  carryin'  the  cord  with  it ;  but  the 
other  end  o'  that  same  was  fast  tied  to  the 
belt  o'  Dermond. 

An'  lookin'  down  he  could  see  the  face  of 
Etain,  an'  her  eyes  were  bright  with  glad- 
ness. Aah,  'twas  not  long  before  he  was 
at  her  side,  leavin'  the  cord  end  with  a 
heavy  stone  on  it  to  hold  it  there. 


48        THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

*'  How  will  ye  gather  the  grain  ?  "  says 
she  ;  yet  half  knowin'  how  'twould  be. 

"  By  the  cord  that  holds  the  arrow,"  says 
Dermond. 

*'  An'  if  the  birds  fly  down  an'  tear  up  the 
young  plants  ?  " 

"  That  they  shall  not,"  says  Dermond.  So 
he  made  many  arrows  o'  straight  branches, 
an'  some  o'  reeds.  An'  he  planted  seven 
other  grains  in  the  valley  below.  An'  when 
the  time  was  comin'  that  the  sprouts  would 
be  comin'  out  o'  the  earth,  he  took  his 
arrows  up  the  cliff  side,  an'  set  himself  to 
watchin'. 

An'  whenever  a  bird  flew  near  the  moun- 
tain-top, Dermond's  arrows  shot  straight 
an'  true,  an'  that  bird  came  no  more  away 
from  there.  Ay,  but  'twas  weary  stayin' 
there,  for  as  he  saw  the  green  growin' 
higher  an'  higher,  he  dared  not  so  much 
as  think  o'  leavin'  the  cliff  side,  for  fear  o' 
disasther.  If  ye'll  believe  it,  'twas  nigh  on 
three  months  that  he  spent  on  that  shelf, 
havin'  no  mind   to  be  turned   into  oak  or 


HARVESTIN'   O'    DERMOND     49 

fir  tree.  But  one  there  was  who  would  not 
leave  him  in  danger  o'  starvin',  an'  Etain 
was  that  same. 

At  last  the  grain  ripened  in  the  valley, 
an'  by  that  Dermond  knew  that  his  time  o' 
triumphin'  was  comin'.  He  called  Dughall 
from  his  hall,  an'  ye  could  have  heard  his 
voice  ringin'  out  for  a  mile. 

An'  then  he  lifted  the  cord  an'  began  to 
pull.  Now  'twas  hard  gettin'  the  plants 
loose,  for  the  roots  had  sthruck  deep  into 
the  earth ;  an'  all  round  him  he  seemed  to 
be  hearin'  the  Little  People  jeerin'  at  him 
an'  waitin'  for  the  rope  to  break.  An'  for 
a  moment  his  strength  was  naught. 

Then  he  called  down  to  the  one  who 
stood  nearest — 

*'  Mouth  o'  roses,  are  ye  there  ?  " 

*' Ay,"  says  Etain. 

''Then  laugh!  Laugh  yer  sweetest,  or 
I'll  fail  an'  come  to  ill  yet." 

An'  up  rose  her  laughter  like  bells  o'  gold, 
an'  the  music  o'  that  put  the  strength  o' 
seven   into   the   arms  o'   Dermond — for  no 

D 


50        THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

more  could  he  hear  the  tauntin'  o'  the  Little 
People. 

He  gave  one  more  steady  pull,  an'  down 
flew  the  stalks  o'  ripe  corn,  roots  an'  leaves 
an'  all,  at  the  feet  o'  Dughall  the  Wise,  an' 
he  caught  them  up  an'  held  the  grain  safe 
in  his  hand  ! 

['*  And  what  happened  then  ?  " 

'*  Why,  sure,  all  the  trees  turned  back 
into  the  armed  men  o'  Dughall,  an'  his 
low  house  into  a  fine  royal  palace  for 
them  all,  an'— an' " 

**  And  they  lived  happy  ever  after  ?  " 

*'  Ever  afther.  An'  all  because  Etdin 
laughed  sweeter  nor  the  Little  People. 
There's  a  mighty  power  in  a  laugh." 

*'  And  if  she  hadn't,  wouldn't  there 
have  been  any  story  ?  " 

'*  No,  naught  but  one  more  tall  tree 
in  the  forest  o'  Dughall.  An'  now 
away  with  yees,  before  ye  have  me 
laughin'  in  spite  o'  meself."] 


Ill 

EIVEEN   COLD-HEART 


Ill 

EIVEEN   COLD-HEART 

["Now  why  an'  ever  should  I  be  wastin' 
me  good  time  chatterin'  to  yees  ?  Sure, 
'tis  coaxin'  the  very  pipe  out  o'  me 
mouth  ye'll  be,  next,  with  the  soft  talk 
o'  yees.     Listen  now."] 

Ye  mind  what  I  told  yees  about  the  sons  o' 
Cormac  ?  How  they  all  tried  their  fortune, 
wantin'  to  marry  King  Murdough's  daughter 
an'  take  the  labour  o'  rulin'  his  kingdom  off 
his  shouldhers  ?  An'  how  Dermond,  that 
was  oldest,  was  beaten  by  fat  Eocha  the 
cook ;  an'  Eiveen,  that  came  next,  was 
tripped  up  by  Kevin  the  groom — an'  all 
because  they  were  shamed  o'  wearin'  Cor- 
mac's  old  jerkin  ?  An'  ye'll  mind  how 
Dermond  went  off  an'  found  fortune  beyant 
the    Path   o'   the   Rocks?     Well,   then,  'tis 


54        THE    SONS   O'  CORMAC 

Eiveen  the  Swift  as  I'll  be  afther  tellln' 
about. 

When  the  gate  o'  the  castle  shut  behind 
him  an'  Maive  the  Fair,  that  had  brought 
him  the  purse  o'  money  from  Princess 
Maurya,  an'  had  followed  him  out  o'  the 
door,  all  the  wits  o'  him  couldn't  t^ll  him 
what  way  'twas  best  to  turn.  He  looked  at 
Maive,  thinkin'  to  open  the  door  for  her 
again,  but  she  shook  her  head,  holdin'  fast 
to  his  hand  all  the  while. 

**  Come,  then,"  says  Eiveen.  "'Tis  scant 
use  our  standin'  here  an'  waitin'  for  the  sun 
to  start  our  shadows  on  the  road."  So  he 
dropped  the  purse  inside  his  huntin'  bag,  an' 
led  the  way  down  the  path  that  went  by  the 
river  bank  ;  an'  by  him,  in  her  cloak  K>'  white 
wool  that  was  fastened  with  a  gold  clasp, 
went  Maive  the  Fair. 

Now  all  that  mornin'  they  met  no  one  on 
the  road,  nor  passed  any  house  at  all ;  an' 
never  a  word  more  did  Eiveen  say  to  Maive, 
for  there  were  sore  thoughts  within  him,  o' 
Kevin   the   groom,    an'   o'  the   laughter   in 


EIVEEN   COLD-HEART  55 

King  Murdough's  castle.  At  last  it  came 
to  be  the  middle  o'  the  day,  an'  he  saw 
that  Maive  was  walkin'  slow  behind  him, 
bein'  weary  ;  so  he  sat  down  under  a  tree 
by  the  roadside,  an'  took  out  some  cakes 
from  his  huntin'  bag. 

An'  as  they  were  eatin',  Eiveen  looked  at 
Maive.  An'  she  was  but  a  slip  of  a  girleen, 
with  brown  eyes  that  saw  straight  into  the 
heart  o'  him. 

''  Why  did  ye  come  with  me  ? "  asked 
Eiveen.  **  'Tis  a  hard  road  I  must  thravel, 
with  the  spite  o'  the  Little  People  on  me 
for  me  folly." 

**  For  to  take  half  o'  the  burden  o'  that 
from  ye,"  says  Maive.  "  Maybe  they'll  not 
be  angry  that  long,  if  ye  do  naught  else  to 
turn  them  against  ye." 

**  That  may  be  a  thrue  word,"  says  Eiveen, 
**  but  'tis  yer  own  choice  to  come,  an'  not 
mine  to  bring  ye.  Fortune  an'  power  is 
what  I'm  searchin'  for,  an'  naught  else." 

"  Then  'twas  not  lovin'  Princess  Maurya 
ye  were  ? "  asked  Maive. 


56        THE    SONS   O'  CORMAC 

**  Not  I,"  says  Eiveen.  **  'Twas  to  rule 
the  kingdom  I  came." 

Now  quare  it  was  that  afther  hearin'  him 
say  those  words,  Maive  was  no  longer  weary. 
She  ran  to  the  river  side  an'  brought  him 
cool  wather  for  dhrinkin'  in  her  little  golden 
cup ;  an'  gave  him  the  small  sharp  knife 
from  her  girdle,  because  that  he  had  none 
o'  his  own ;  an'  last  of  all  she  took  the 
huntin'  bag  off  the  grass,  where  'twas  lyin', 
an'  hung  it  round  her  neck.  Then  she 
nodded  to  him  that  'twas  time  to  be  goin' 
on  their  road. 

'*  An'  'tis  careful  we'll  be  not  to  vex  the 
Little  People,"  says  she. 

Now  they  hadn't  gone  but  a  bit  o'  the 
road  when  they  met  along  with  a  quare, 
crooked  little  man,  that  was  dhrivin'  a 
crooked,  quare  small  cow. 

''Stand  out,  an'  let  me  have  the  road 
for  me  cow,"  says  he,  in  a  thin,  shakin' 
voice. 

**  Ye've  yer  share,"  answered  Eiveen. 
**  What's   yer   cow   to    me  ? "      But    Maive 


EIVEEN    COLD-HEART         57 

dhrew  him  by  to  the  grass,  an'  waved  her 
hand  to  the  quare  man  to  be  afther  passin' 
on. 

**  Far  betther  for  ye  to  turn  back  with  me, 
Maive  the  Fair,"  says  the  little  man.  "  'Tis 
long  wantin'  in  happiness  ye'll  be  with 
Eiveen  Cold-Heart." 

"Ay,"  laughed  Maive,  '*but  'tis  not  me 
own  happiness  that  I'm  hopin'  to  find." 

"  An'  why  are  ye  callin'  me  Eiveen  Cold- 
Heart,  when  'tis  Eiveen  the  Swift  is  me 
name  ?  "    asked  Eiveen,  angered. 

**  Look  in  that  same  heart,  an'  find  yer 
answer,"  says  the  man ;  an'  before  they 
knew  what  had  happened,  sure,  he  was 
gone  like  the  whiff  o'  smoke  from  a  pipe. 

"  'Twas  one  o'  the  Little  People,"  says 
Maive.  *'  'Tis  well  to  speak  them  fair,  if 
more  should  be  on  the  road." 

**Ay,  there's  truth  in  that,"  says  Eiveen. 
An'  so  they  went  on  their  way,  Maive  singin* 
to  him  to  cheer  the  goin'. 

Now  'twas  drawin'  toward  night  when 
they  came  in  sight  of  a  small  child  sittin'  in 


58        THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

the  road,  where  'twas  narrow,  between  two 
high  banks. 

*'  Make  room  for  us  to  pass,"  says  Eiveen, 
for  he  was  wantin'  to  reach  some  restin' 
place  for  the  night. 

"  First  help  me  out  o'  this,"  says  the  child, 
wailin'.  **'Tis  me  foot  is  caught  in  the 
crack  o'  the  stones." 

**  Get  it  out  yerself,  an'  out  o'  me  way," 
says  Eiveen.  But  Maive  knelt  down  an' 
pulled  the  rough  stones  away  with  her  soft 
white  hands,  an'  the  child  stood  up. 

"  Far  wiser  were  ye  to  turn  yer  steps  an' 
follow  me,  Maive  the  Fair,"  says  he.  **'Tis 
but  little  love  ye'U  win  from  Eiveen  Cold- 
Heart." 

Maive  looked  back  along  the  road,  but 
she  shook  her  head  bravely,  not  sayin'  a 
word.     'Twas  Eiveen  was  fierce  at  that. 

"  Why  are  ye  callin'  me  out  o'  me  name  ?  " 
says  he.  "  'Tis  Eiveen  the  Swift  ye'll  be 
findin'  me ! "  An'  he  started  to  catch  the 
child.  But  there,  before  he'd  stepped  fair  out 
o'  his  tracks,  he  could  see  no  child  nowhere. 


EIVEEN   COLD-HEART         59 

"'Tis  the  Little  People  are  vexed  when 
ye  speak  sharp,"  says  Maive. 

"I'd  forgot  that,"  says  Eiveen.  ''Next 
time  ril  have  care  o'  me  words." 

Now  it  grew  fast  darker  as  they  walked 
on  in  the  narrow  path,  an'  the  night  birds 
were  callin'  in  the  trees.  By-an'-by  they 
came  to  a  wider  place,  near  the  river,  where 
willows  grew ;  an'  under  the  boughs  was  a 
light  shinin,  faint  an'  waverin*. 

** 'Tis  a  cabin  there,"  says  Maive.  "We 
may  get  fire  to  warm  us." 

"  Ay,  an'  food  to  eat,  for  I've  no  more  o' 
that  but  one  crust,"  says  Eiveen.  An'  as 
they  came  nearer  they  saw  an  old,  withered- 
lookin'  crone  crouchin'  by  the  door-stone. 
Eiveen  spoke  up  to  her — 

"Is  it  fire  on  the  hearth  ye  have  ?  The 
night  grows  chill." 

"Ay,"  says  she,  "there's  fire  for  warmin' 
Maive  the  Fair,  but  the  flame  would  die  if 
ye  entered  me  cabin,  Eiveen  Cold-Heart." 

At  this  he  turned  on  his  heel,  angry ;  but 
Maive  dhrew  him  to   sit  on  the  grass,  an' 


6o        THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

heaped  up  dhry  sticks,  an'  slipped  by  the 
old  woman  into  the  door,  an'  brought  out  a 
lighted  turf  to  make  a  bit  o'  fire  on  the 
ground.  Then  Eiveen  took  out  the  crust, 
an'  gave  part  to  Maive. 

**'Tis  starved  I  am,"  says  the  old  crone. 
"  Have  ye  no  bite  to  spare  for  me  ?  " 

"  Nay,"  says  Eiveen,  glad  to  spite  her  for 
misnamin'  o'  him ;  but  Maive  broke  her  bit 
in  two,  an'  gave  half  to  the  woman.  Then 
she  brought  wather  from  the  river  in  her 
cup.  An'  as  she  was  comin'  back  over  the 
grass,  the  crone  said — 

'*  Far  safer  were  ye  to  stay  in  me  cabin 
with  me,  Maive  the  Fair,  than  to  be  wearin' 
the  sandals  from  yer  little  white  feet  fol- 
lowin'  Eiveen  Cold-Heart." 

"  Nay,"  laughed  Maive.  '*  Tis  naught  but 
his  own  word  shall  part  me  from  him  while 
there's  service  I  can  do  to  help  him  to  his 
heart's  wish." 

"If  it's  that  ye're  waitin'  for,"  says  Eiveen, 
**go  yer  way  where  ye  will.  I'll  reach  for- 
tune sooner  without  ye." 


EIVEEN    COLD-HEART         6i 

As  he  spoke  those  hard  words,  the  old 
crone  stood  up  an'  pointed  her  staff  at  Maive, 
but  her  eyes  were  on  Eiveen. 

'*Go,  then,"  says  she.  *'  Find  yer  fortune 
as  ye  will,  an'  see  naught  o'  Maive  but  the 
want  o'  her  an'  the  shadow  o'  her,  till  ye've 
warmed  that  cold  heart  ye  carry." 

An'  as  Eiveen  sprang  up  from  the  log 
where  he'd  been  sittin',  sure,  in  place  o' 
Maive  in  her  white  cloak  was  nothin'  but 
a  slendher,  young,  white  birch  tree ;  an'  no- 
where was  cabin,  nor  crone,  nor  so  much 
as  a  spark  o'  fire  burnin'  at  all.  'Twas  all 
alone  he  was  under  the  willows,  an'  no 
sound  but  the  splashin'  o'  the  runnin'  river 
over  the  stones  in  the  darkness  o'  the 
night. 

Well,  he  pushed  his  way  here  an'  there 
through  the  trees,  lookin'  for  Maive,  but 
nowhere  could  he  spy  a  glint  o'  the  white 
cloak ;  an'  at  last,  bein'  too  weary  to  go 
farther,  he  lay  down  on  the  turf  and  slept. 
All  through  the  night  he  dreamed  o'  tryin' 
to  reach  a  white  birch  tree.     'Twas  always 


62        THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

growin'  far  ahead,  up  a  steep  hillside,  an*  he 
could  never  come  nigh  it. 

When  first  he  woke  in  the  mornin',  he  felt 
a  sharp  wind  blowin'  from  the  north  across 
him,  an'  yet  he  wasn't  cold,  for  over  him 
seemed  to  be  lyin'  Maive's  cloak  o'  soft 
wool.  But  when  he  rose,  it  was  nowhere 
around. 

**  Small  use  in  stay  in'  here,"  thought 
Eiveen ;  so  afther  givin'  one  more  look 
among  the  trees  in  search  o'  Maive,  he 
turned  to  the  path  by  the  river,  an'  went 
his  way. 

'Twas  lonesome  walkin',  that.  All  the 
time  he  felt  somethin'  lackin',  an'  not  knowin' 
what  it  was.  By  an'  beyant,  as  noon  was 
near,  he  came  to  an  inn  by  the  road,  an' 
asked  in  it  for  food. 

**  Have  ye  money  to  pay  for  it.-*"  asked 
the  man. 

Then  of  a  sudden  Eiveen  minded  that  his 
purse  o'  money  was  in  the  huntin'  bag  over 
Maive's  shouldhers.  He  set  off,  runnin' 
back  by  the  way  he'd  come,  an'  when  ^twas 


EIVEEN   COLD-HEART         63 

nigh  dusk  he  came  to  the  willows.  An' 
there  was  the  dark  cabin,  an'  the  crone 
crouchin'  on  the  door-stone,  an'  by  her  a 
slim,  white  girleen. 

**  Maive  !  "  he  called,  forgettin'  the  ill  words 
he'd  given  her.  **Are  ye  not  comin'  with 
me?"  But  she  stepped  back  from  him,  an' 
the  crone  laughed. 

'*  'Tis  for  the  bag  ye  came,  an'  not  for 
Maive  the  Fair.  Ask  her  for  it,  an'  be- 
gone ! " 

Eiveen  hastened  towards  Maive,  an'  right 
then  a  mist  blew  over  his  eyes,  an'  there  was 
naught  but  the  birch  tree  an'  the  huntin'  bag 
on  the  grass  by  it.  He  slung  it  over  his 
arm,  an'  went  off  again.  Too  late  it  was 
for  him  to  be  afther  reachin'  the  inn,  so  he 
had  to  sleep  on  the  road.  An'  again  he 
thought  the  cloak  covered  him  from  the 
night  dews  an'  the  cold.  But  wakin',  it 
was  gone. 

At  the  inn  he  bought  bread  and  meat, 
an'  as  he  sat  eatin'  he  couldn't  put  by  the 
thought  o'  Maive  sharin'  her  dhry  crust  with 


64        THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

the  crone.  An'  he  was  full  o'  wrath  at  the 
Little  People  for  takin'  her  from  him.  Pre- 
sently by  came  ridin'  a  troop  o'  men  in 
armour,  all  shinin' ;  an'  their  leader  stopped 
an'  spoke  to  Eiveen. 

**  What  man's  man  are  ye  ?  " 

"  No  man's  man,"  says  Eiveen,  '*  but  a 
king's  son." 

**What  king  is  that?" 

'*  Cormac  without  a  Kingdom.  His  second 
son  am  I,  named  Eiveen  the  Swift." 

**  Then  mount  an'  ride  with  me,  an'  it  may 
be  we'll  find  fightin'  a  plenty,  an'  win  great 
honour.  Cathal  o'  the  Mountain  am  I,  an'  a 
good  comrade  is  me  heart's  desire." 

So  Eiveen  rode  off  to  the  north  with 
Cathal,  on  a  horse  that  was  given  him. 
But  all  through  the  day  he  was  hearkenin' 
for  the  music  o'  Maive's  singin',  an'  the  road 
was  long  an'  weary  wantin'  it.  At  last,  far 
in  the  afthernoon,  Eiveen  turned  to  Cathal. 

'"Tis  somethin'  I've  left  behind  that  I 
miss  sorely,"  says  he.  **  I  must  ride  back 
an'  claim  it." 


EIVEEN    COLD-HEART         65 

"Go,  then,"  says  Cathal,  '*an'  join  us 
where  we  halt  for  the  night,  a  bow-shot 
farther  up  this  road,  by  the  runnin'  brook." 

Eiveen  rode  off  swiftly  across  the  wild 
counthry  toward  the  river,  an'  again  at  dusk 
he  came  on  the  cabin.  An'  Maive,  standin' 
among  the  shadows,  faded  as  he  neared  her. 

"  Give  me  Maive,  or  'twill  go  ill  with  ye ! " 
he  cried  in  anger  to  the  old  crone. 

**  Nay,  Eiveen  Cold- Heart,  not  yet  warmed. 
'Tis  but  wrath  at  losin'  what  ye  thought  was 
yer  own  that  brought  ye  back.  Go,  seek  yer 
road  to  fortune  ! " 

An'  then  the  mist  clouded  all  from  his 
eyes,  an'  naught  remained  for  him  but  just 
to  ride  back  to  Cathal. 

Next  mornin'  they  all  rode  on  to  the 
north.  An'  all  day  Eiveen  kept  seein'  the 
brown  eyes  o'  Maive  in  every  shadow. 
When  they  passed  the  apple-trees  the  flowers 
were  like  her  white  hands,  an'  the  whish  o' 
the  wind  was  like  her  steps  in  the  grass. 

Late  in  the  day  he  turned  to  Cathal,  an' 
says  he — 


66        THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

"  I  must  go  back  for  somethin'.  'Tis 
ill  fortune  that  I  left  it." 

"  Nay,"  says  Cathal,  likin'  it  little.  ''  If 
ye  go  from  us  again,  ye  need  not  come 
back." 

"  Then  will  I  seek  honour  elsewhere," 
says  Eiveen.  He  sprang  from  the  horse, 
an'  tossed  the  bridle  to  Cathal. 

''Take  back  yer  gift,"  says  he.  '*'Tis 
afther  seekin'  me  treasure  I'll  be,  an'  not 
givin'  over  till  I  find  it." 

So  off  he  went,  across  hill  an'  valley, 
toward  the  far  river.  An'  though  'twas 
Eiveen  the  Swift  he  was,  the  night  was 
gone  an  early  dawn  breakin'  before  he 
reached  the  willows  again.  Through  the 
trees  he  saw  the  cabin,  an'  the  old  woman, 
but  Maive  was  not  there. 

"  Maive  !  "  he  called.     An'  *'  Maive !  " 

"  Why  have  ye  come  ?  "  asked  the  crone. 
**  Are  ye  seekin'  a  servant  for  carryin'  yer 
bag  ?  " 

*'  Nay,"  says  Eiveen.  **  'Tis  I  would 
serve  her." 


EIVEEN    COLD-HEART         6>] 

**Then  bring  wather  from  the  river  to 
the  birch  tree,  for  'tis  droopin'  for  wantin' 
that  same." 

Then  Eiveen  took  his  huntin'  bag  an' 
filled  it  with  wather,  an'  poured  it  on  the 
roots.  An'  for  three  days  he  went  back 
an'  forth,  thinkin'  o'  naught  but  how  to 
keep  the  slendher  white  birch  tree  from 
fad  in'  away. 

An'  on  the  third  day,  as  he  saw  how 
it  was  witherin,  he  knelt  down  at  its  roots, 
sorrow  in'. 

''What  would  ye  if  ye  had  but  one 
wish  to  be  granted  ?  "  asked  the  old  crone, 
pityin'  him. 

**  Maive,"  says  Eiveen. 

"  An'  not  fortune  an'  power .?  " 

"Nay,  'twas  happier  I  was  in  Cormac's 
cabin  with  neither,"  says  Eiveen.  An'  as 
he  spoke,  'twas  two  hot  tears  dropped  on 
the  roots  o'  the  little  tree. 

Then  'twas  as  if  mist  rolled  away,  an 
the  sun  shone  down  on  him  in  gladness, 
for   there   by    him   stood    Maive,    with   her 


68        THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

brown  eyes  lookin'  laughin'  into  his  warm 
heart. 

An'  together  they  went  back  across  the 
hills  to  the  Lough  o'  the  Eagle,  knowin' 
that  the  Little  People  were  no  more  vexed. 


IV 
THE  QUESTIN'   O'  CLEENA 


IV 

THE  QUESTIN'  O'   CLEENA 

['*A  truce  to  fightin',  now.  Not  one  word 
comes  out  o'  me  mouth  till  ye're  as 
whist  as  lambs  hearkenin'  for  the  grass 
to  grow.  Ay,  see  now,  how  aisy  it 
comes ! "] 

Men  were  sthrong  men  in  those  days,  but 

never  one  at  the  court  o'  King  Murdough 

had  come  nigh  matchin'  Feargus  the  Black, 

till    the    sons    o'    Cormac    set    foot    there. 

Many   a   time    he   thought   how   'twas   the 

green  jerkin   an'   the   power   o'  the    Little 

People  backin'  that  same  that  had  lost  him 

the  fight ;  though  he'd  wit  enough  to  hold 

his    tongue,    an'    not    risk    the    angerin'    o' 

King    Murdough.      But  'twas   ever   in   his 

mind  that  some  day  he'd  prove  himself  as 

good  a  man  as  Conan  o'  the  Long  Arms. 

71 


72        THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

Now  there  came  a  day  when  King  Mur- 
dough  had  a  message  in  hand  for  Torcall 
the  Dane,  that  dwelt  nigh  the  shores  o' 
Moyle.  An'  'twas  a  sharp  word  was  to 
be  sent,  an'  full  o'  peril  to  him  that 
carried  it. 

The  King  sat  on  his  high  seat,  when 
all  was  ready,  an'  looked  round  the  hall, 
where  stood  many  to  do  his  biddin'.  An' 
in  a  far  corner,  by  the  wide  fireplace,  Fear- 
gus  the  Black  was  talkin'  with  Cleena,  his 
daughter. 

Then  says  King  Murdough,  in  a  quiet 
small  voice,  as  he'd  been  talking  to  him- 
self— 

**  Is  there  a  man  can  carry  me  word  to 
Torcall  the  Dane,  an'  bring  me  his  thrue 
answer  without  failin'  ?  " 

Half  o'  those  in  the  hall  paid  no  heed 
at  all,  but  Cleena  caught  the  hand  o' 
Feargus. 

** 'Tis  yer  chance,"  she  whispered.  **Go 
forward  an'  claim  the  right." 

So  like  a  flash  Feargus  pushed  through 


THE   QUESTIN'   O'   CLEENA     ^z 

the  crowd  an'  knelt  to  King  Murdough  ; 
though  many  were  drawin'  back,  seein' 
that  Torcall  was  no  child  to  be  reckoned 
with. 

*'  What  would  ye  have  ?  "  asked  the  King. 

"  Leave  to  carry  the  word  to  the  shores 
o'  Moyle,"  answered  Feargus. 

Murdough  shook  his  head,  for  'twas  not 
in  his  heart  to  lose  a  good  warrior  like 
Feargus  to  the  Danes,  when  a  lesser  would 
do  as  well. 

"  Such  work  is  not  for  ye,"  he  says. 
**  Wait,  for  the  hour  o'  battle  will  come 
afther." 

'*  Give  me  leave  to  go,  King  Murdough," 
says  Feargus  again. 

**  Nay,"  says  King  Murdough,  "  for  there's 
many   a    chance    that   who    goes    will    not 


return." 


Then  Conan  spoke,  that  had  been  sittin' 
by  the  King — 

**'Tis  right  he  has.  Give  him  leave  for 
seven  days  an'  seven,  to  go  to  the  shores  o' 
Moyle  an'  to  return  ;  an'  if  he  comes  again 


74        THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

in  safety,  at  me  side  shall  he  fight  the 
men  o'  Torcall." 

Feargus  looked  at  Conan,  that  was  wed 
to  Princess  Maurya,  an'  for  the  first  time 
a  flash  o'  friendship  was  in  the  meetin'  o' 
their  eyes. 

"  Come  back  will  I,  Conan  o*  the  King- 
dom. In  seven  days  an'  seven  more  I'll 
claim  that  word  from  ye." 

With  that  Conan  loosed  the  huntin  horn 
from  his  belt,  an'  gave  it  to  Feargus. 

'"Tis  a  token  o'  the  word  I've  given 
ye,"  says  he.  **  Return  it  in  the  time  set, 
an'  lead  the  battle  with  me.  An'  carryin' 
it  ye'll  be  safe  from  the  Little  People,  but 
use  it  only  in  yer  sorest  need." 

So  before  night  fell,  Feargus  the  Black 
was  ridin'  away  to  the  sea,  an'  none  with 
him  but  Kevin  the  groom.  An'  Cleena 
stood  on  the  castle  wall,  with  her  black 
hair  hangin'  round  her,  an'  watched  him  go. 

Each  day,  when  it  neared  sunset,  she 
went  up  in  the  tower,  lookin'  for  him  ;  an' 
it  came  to  be  seven  days  an'  three   more, 


THE   QUESTIN'   O'   CLEENA     75 

then  seven  days  an  four  more,  an'  no  word 
o'  Feargus. 

Now  the  next  day  to  that  was  a  great 
huntin',  an'  Conan  an'  Princess  Maurya 
rode  out  at  the  head  o'  the  court,  all  dressed 
in  gay  colours.  But  Cleena  watched  from 
the  tower,  an'   King  Murdough  slept. 

When  the  sun  was  turnin'  to  the  west, 
an'  all  noise  o'  the  huntin'  was  far  an'  away, 
she  saw  a  man  runnin'  along  the  path 
by  the  river.  An'  as  he  neared  the  ford, 
she  saw  'twas  Kevin  the  groom.  Like  a 
hawk  from  the  clouds  she  was  at  the  gate 
before  any  other  could  reach  it. 

**  Where  left  ye  Feargus  ? "  she  cried  ; 
an'  Kevin  the  groom  crouched  down  on  the 
stones,  fearin'  the  great  dark  eyes  o'  her 
that  were  lookin'  through  an'  through  him, 
an'  callin'  him  coward  for  leavin'  his  masther. 

**  'Tis  not  for  me  to  say,"  he  whispered, 
nigh  on  spent  with  the  runnin.  ** When  we 
were  passin'  the  head  o'  the  valley  o'  the 
Dark  Lough,  he  dropped  the  horn  o'  Conan  ; 
an'  when  he  turned  back  to  search  for  it, 


^6        THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

for  'twas  his  token  from  the  prince,  I  lost 
sight  o'  him,  an'  could  find  naught  o'  him, 
though  I  called  many  times  over." 

"  An'  yer  horses  ?  "  asked  Cleena. 

**When  I  came  back  to  where  I  had 
tied  them,  they  were  gone,  an'  no  trace  to  be 
seen.  'Tis  the  Little  People  have  stolen 
them  all  away.     Ay,  that  it  is." 

Then  Cleena  turned  to  those  in  the  court- 
yard, an'  there  were  not  many,  for  all  the 
fightin'  men  were  off  at  the  huntin',  an'  says 
she — 

**  Who  dares  go  back  to  the  Valley  o'  the 
Dark  Lough  to  find  Feargus  ?  " 

But  none  answered.  An'  as  for  Kevin 
the  groom,  he  slipped  away,  for  fear  o'  bein' 
made  to  show  the  way. 

"Is  there  not  one  man  among  ye  to  be 
friend  to  Feargus  '^.  "  asked  Cleena,  lookin' 
from  one  to  the  other,  an'  waitin'  for  who 
should  step  forward.  But  a  hard  man  an'  a 
proud  was  Feargus,  an'  now,  in  his  need,  none 
dared  brave  the  Little  People  to  aid  him. 

Then  came  scorn  to  the  eyes  o'  Cleena, 


THE   QUESTIN'   O'   CLEENA     ^^ 

an'  she  turned  an*  passed  them,  holdin'  her 
cloak  to  her  that  it  might  not  touch  them. 

"All  this  shall  King  Murdough  hear  when 
he  wakes ;  an'  Princess  Maurya,  when  she 
comes  from  the  huntin' ;  an'  Conan  o'  the 
Kingdom  shall  reckon  with  ye.  But  for  me, 
I  go  alone  to  seek  Feargus  the  Black,  where 
ye  dare  not  follow." 

With  that  she  went  into  the  stable,  an' 
there  lay  Cian,  the  waitin  boy,  sound 
sleepin'.  As  she  brushed  by  him,  he  woke 
an'  sprang  up. 

"  What  would  Lady  Cleena  }  "  he  asked. 

"A  horse,  that  I  may  ride  to  seek  for 
Feargus,  who  is  lost  by  the  Dark  Lough." 

"  Is  there  no  man  to  go  ?  "  asked  Cian. 

**  Nay,"  says  she,  **  none  but  children 
tremblin'  for  fear  o'  the  Little  People." 

**Then  will  I  ride  with  ye,"  cried  Cian. 
"  Though  I  have  but  a  boy's  strength  in 
fightin',  yet  was  me  mother  a  wise  woman, 
an'  taught  me  many  a  cunnin  charm." 

So  Cian  brought  out  two  horses,  an' 
together  they  rode  out  o'  the  gate  an'  across 


7^        THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

the  ford,  Cleena  never  lookin'  back  to 
the  castle.  All  through  the  night  they 
rode,  pressin'  on  with  naught  but  the  noise 
o'  the  ripplin'  water  for  guidin' ;  an'  in  the 
mornin'  there  still  lay  many  a  mile  before 
them.  Yet  they  never  dhrew  rein,  for  'twas 
the  sixth  day  afther  the  seventh,  an'  there 
was  mountains  to  pass. 

As  the  sun  went  down  the  west,  they  saw 
a  deep  valley  before  them,  an'  in  it  a  lough, 
with  a  bit  of  an  island  in  it ;  an'  the  wather 
was  as  smooth  an'  dark  as  black  marble. 

Cleena  slipped  from  her  horse,  an'  Cian 
the  same,  an'  together  they  tied  the  horses 
to  a  tree,  Cian  twistin'  the  bridles  in  a 
strange  knot,  that  the  Little  People  should 
have  no  power  for  untyin'  them. 

''Where  now.  Lady  Cleena?"  says 
Cian. 

''  Down  yon  glen,  to  seek  Feargus,"  says 
she. 

**  An'  I  with  ye,"  says  Cian. 

"  Nay,"  answered  Cleena.  *'  I  bid  ye 
wait  here,  that  there  shall  be  one  to  tell  all 


THE   QUESTIN'   O'   CLEENA     79 
to  Princess  Maurya  if  I   come  not  back  by 


mornin'." 


''Then  hearken  to  me,"  says  Cian. 
**  Trust  naught  in  man's  shape  till  he  pass 
through  fire  an'  wather  ;  an'  touch  the  hand 
o'  none  ye  meet,  be  it  Feargus  himself.'* 

So  Cleena  caught  her  cloak  o'  gold  an 
scarlet  over  her  arm,  an'  went  from  him, 
in  the  light  o'  sunset.  An'  soon  she  came  to 
a  place  where  the  trees  grew  closer,  an'  there 
was  scant  room  for  her  to  pass  under  their 
boughs.  But  as  she  bent,  she  saw  a  glint 
o'  gold  in  a  heap  o'  dead  leaves,  an'  there 
lay  the  huntin'  horn  o'  Conan. 

'Twas  quick  up  in  her  hand,  with  its  cord 
passed  round  her  white  neck  ;  an'  the  cour- 
age o'  ten  came  into  her  heart.  Down  the 
valley  she  passed,  lookin'  every  way  for  a 
sight  o'  Feargus,  an'  callin'  his  name  now 
an'  again  ;    but  none  answered. 

'Twas  mortal  dark  down  at  the  wather's 
edge,  an'  what  way  to  turn  was  more  nor 
she  knew. 

**  'Tis  sore  needin'  help  I  am,"  says  she ; 


8o        THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

an'  with  that  she  blew  a  soft  note  on  the 
horn.  It  echoed  all  down  the  lough,  like 
the  tremblin  of  a  bell,  an'  before  it  had  fair 
died  away,  she  saw  on  the  sand  a  little  boat 
o'  skins,  like  the  fishers  use,  with  a  paddle 
swingin'  in  the  wather.  Cleena  waited  for 
no  thinking  but  stepped  in  an'  paddled  to- 
ward the  island. 

There  was  no  sign  o'  life  on  it,  but  she 
tied  the  boat  to  a  bush  that  hung  over  low, 
with  that  same  knot  o'  Cian's.  Then  from 
the  fold  o'  her  girdle  she  took  flint  an'  steel 
that  he'd  given  her,  an'  made  a  bit  o'  fire  to 
light  a  dhry  branch  that  lay  handy.  With 
that  torch  she  went  on,  an'  soon  found  the 
island  cut  in  two  by  a  narrow  ditch  o'  wather. 
Howsomever,  she  leaped  over  it,  an'  again 
called  Feargus. 

There  was  a  rustlin'  in  the  leaves,  an'  a 
voice  answerin' — 

**  Cleena !     Daughter !  " 

**  Father!  Come!"  she  cried  again;  an' 
out  o'  the  dusk  came  a  tall  man,  an'  the 
light  from  the  torch  fell  on  the  very  face  o' 


Nay,"  says  Cleena,  "  come  ye  over. 


THE   QUESTIN'   O'   CLEENA     8i 

Feargus.  She  was  just  goln'  to  run  to  him, 
when  sudden  she  thought  what  Cian  had 
said,  an  she  sHpped  back  past  the  ditch, 
holdin'  the  torch  to  light  him.  He  came  to 
the  edge,  reachin'  out  his  hand. 

''Help  me  to  cross.  'Tis  mortal  weary  I 
am,"  says  he. 

**Nay,"  says  Cleena,  ''come  ye  over." 
But  with  that  word  he  was  naught  but 
dhriven  mist. 

"  'Twas  his  shadow,"  thought  Cleena  ;  an' 
turnin',  she  went  the  other  way,  still  callin' 
on  Feargus.  By  an'  beyant  she  heard  a 
branch  breakin',  an'  again  a  dark  figure 
answered  her  callin' ;  an'  again  'twas  the 
likeness  o'  Feargus. 

Now  here  was  no  wather  to  cross ;  so 
quick,  to  try  was  it  a  thrue  man,  she  held 
down  her  torch  an'  set  fire  to  some  withered 
leaves. 

"  Come  to  me  by  that,"  says  she. 

*'  Give  me  yer  hand  first,"  says  the  other, 
movin'  near. 

"  Nay,"  says  Cleena  ;  an'  'twas  as  if  smoke 

F 


82        THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

blew  away  an'  left  no  man  behind.  Just 
then  she  heard  a  sound  at  her  feet ;  an'  there, 
lyin'  in  the  grass,  was  Feargus  again,  bound 
hand  an'  foot. 

**  Loose  me,  if  it  be  Cleena,  an'  not  the 
banshee,"  he  groaned. 

'*  Wait,"  says  Cleena,  runnin'  back  to  the 
lough's  edge,  an'  dippin'  the  scarf  from  her 
neck  in  the  wather.  'Twas  with  fire  an' 
wather  she  returned  to  Feargus,  an'  with  the 
burnin'  end  o'  her  brand  she  parted  the  cords 
that  bound  him.  Seein'  that  he  never  flinched 
at  the  fire,  she  quenched  the  sparks  on  his 
coat  with  the  wet  scarf  Still  Feargus  was 
before  her,  an'  she  began  to  believe  it  himself 

'*  Rise  an*  follow,"  says  she  ;  an'  he  obeyed, 
seemin'  half  sleepin'.  She  led  the  way  to 
the  boat,  not  lookin'  back  till  she  was  in  it ; 
an'  then,  when  she  turned,  in  the  gloom 
stood  three  Fearguses,  each  bendin  forward 
to  enter  the  boat,  an'  naught  to  show  which 
was  her  father.  A  sore  tremblin'  came  over 
her  ;  an'  then  she  raised  the  horn  an'  blew 
a  brave  blast. 


THE   QUESTIN'   O'   CLEENA     83 

Smoke  cleared  away  overhead,  an'  mist 
drifted  across  the  wather,  but  the  thrue 
Feargus  stepped  into  the  end  o'  the  boat, 
an'  sat  quiet  while  she  paddled  back  to  the 
shore.  Sort  o'  dazed  he  was  still,  as  he 
followed  her  up  the  glen  to  where  Cian  was 
waitin'  with  their  horses,  but  not  until  he 
was  fair  in  the  moonlight  outside  did  he 
come  to  his  right  senses. 

"  'Tis  yerself,  Cleena ! "  says  he. 

"  Ay,"  says  she.  *'  A  far  road  have  I 
come  to  find  ye,  father." 

*' An'  'tis  love  I'll  be  owin'  ye  all  me  days 
for  that  same,"  says  he.  **  Where  is  Kevin 
the  groom,  an'  me  horses  ?  " 

"  'Tis  Kevin  is  not  worth  the  words  ye' re 
wastin'  on  him,"  says  she.  "  An'  as  for  the 
horses,  'tis  himself  says  that  the  Little  People 
had  taken  them  while  he  was  seekin'  ye. 
Take  ye  mine,  an'  save  yer  honour  with 
Prince  Conan,  an'  I'll  ride  slow  with  Cian." 

**Nay,"  says  the  lad.  **  Try  first  the 
power  o'  the  huntin'  horn." 

Cleena  took  it  from  her  neck  an'  held  it 


84        THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

out  to  Feargus.  An'  at  the  blast  he  blew, 
out  o'  the  forest  came  the  horses  that  had 
been  lost  by  Kevin. 

**  Lose  no  time,"  called  Cian.  '*'Tis  nigh 
on  mornin',  an  this  seven  days  afther  the 
seventh." 

"  Then  haste's  our  word,"  says  Feargus. 

An'  quick  into  the  saddles  they  sprung ; 
an'  swift  they  rode  across  the  hills  to  the 
road  up  the  river.  'Twas  a  long  weary  ride 
was  before  them,  but  on  they  pushed,  waitin' 
for  neither  rest  nor  food ;  an'  as  the  sun 
neared  the  trees  to  the  west,  they  rode  to 
the  ford. 

An'  there  stood  Conan  o'  the  Kingdom, 
with  Princess  Maurya  by  him.  Sure,  Feargus 
sprang  down  an'  held  out  the  horn.  An' 
says  he — 

**  Torcall  refuses  tribute.  Prince  Conan  ; 
but  'tis  as  yer  friend  I'll  fight  at  yer  side  in 
the  battle  where  we  overcome  him.  For  if 
the  Little  People  helped  ye  at  yer  need,  sure, 
'tis  meself  would  never  be  here  but  for  the 
aidin'  of  a  slip  of  a  girl  an'  a  bit  of  a  lad." 


THE   QUESTIN'   O'   CLEENA     85 

So  they  clasped  hands  like  sthrong  men  ; 
an'  from  the  warriors  o'  King  Murdough 
came  a  great  shout ;  an'  into  the  castle  they 
went  with  high  honour. 

[**  But  Kevin  the  groom  ?  " 

"  Sure,  he  slipped  out  o'  the  tale 
entirely,  for  very  shame  ;  an'  that's  why 
I  never  knew  the  bad  end  he  came 
to."] 


V 

ETHLENN  O'  THE   MIST 


V 

ETHLENN   O'  THE   MIST 

["  Give  me  half  a  quarther  of  a  minute  for 
thinkin',  now ;  an'  hear  the  rale  old  tale 
I'll  be  afther  tellin'  yees,  o'  years  long 
gone  an'  far  away."] 

In  the  days  when  King  Murdough  held 
power  far  an'  wide,  the  River  o'  White 
Rapids  flowed  from  the  far  hills  an'  plunged 
down  the  cliffs  into  the  Sea  o'  Moyle.  'Twas 
naught  but  a  dotteen  of  a  sthream  where  it 
started,  as  it  might  ha'  dhropped  out  o'  the 
rain  clouds ;  but  afther  it  reached  the  deep 
glen  in  the  forest,  it  ran  dark  an'  swift,  an' 
was  ill  to  pass  over,  barrin'  'twas  at  Ath  nan 
Ciar. 

The  meanin'  o'  that  same  was  the  Ford  o' 
the  Shadow  ;  an'  'twas  a  braver  hunter  nor 

most  that  would  near  it  afther  sundown,  for 

89 


90        THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

dread  o'  meetin'  Ethlenn  o'  the  Mist.  So  it 
happened  that  few  had  seen  the  grey  roof  o' 
her  dwellin',  bein  content  with  the  tales  told 
of  it.  Yet  was  there  that  in  the  tales  which 
made  many  a  man  dhream  o'  passin*  the 
ford  an'  winnin'  her. 

Now  'twas  late  in  the  year,  an'  beginnin' 
to  be  cool  at  dusk,  when  a  man  on  a  black 
horse  came  ridin'  up  the  long  hill  slopes  an' 
through  the  low  bushes  toward  Ath  nan 
Ciar ;  an'  no  fearin'  was  in  his  heart.  'Twas 
a  windless  night,  an'  sound  o'  his  comin' 
carried  far  ;  even  to  where  Ethlenn  sat  in 
her  hall  with  her  three  maids,  before  a  pile 
o'  burnin'  logs. 

One  was  spinnin'  threads  o'  silver  like 
moonlight  on  wather ;  an'  one  was  standin' 
weavin'  in  a  loom ;  an'  the  third,  that  was 
kneelin'  in  the  firelight,  was  playin'  on 
a  golden  harp  the  song  o'  the  sea 
waves  breakin'  on  the  shelvin'  sand. 
But  Ethlenn  sat  lookin'  into  the  leapin' 
flames. 

An'  says  the  one  that  was  spinnin' — 


ETHLENN    O'   THE    MIST      91 

"A  sthrong  lad  was  he  that  came  in  the 
dawn,  but  where  is  he  now  ? '' 

Then  the  girl  that  wove  in  the  loom 
answered — 

**  He  sits  by  the  ford,  with  a  cold  wound 
in  his  arm.  An'  'twill  be  a  lesson  to  him  to 
hold  his  hands  from  Ethlenn  o'  the  Mist." 

But  Ethlenn  said  naught. 

Then  spoke  again  the  maid  who  was 
spinnin' — 

"  An'  sure,  'twas  a  stout  soldier  that  waded 
the  ford  at  the  noon,  but  where  is  he  now  ?  " 

The  girl  that  knelt  playin'  sad  on  the  harp 
answered  her — 

*'  He  lies  by  the  River  o'  White  Rapids, 
with  the  cold  above  his  heart ;  an'  never 
again  will  he  think  to  grasp  Ethlenn  o'  the 
Mist  an'  force  her  to  follow  him.  Like  clear 
glass  in  runnin'  wather  she  was  gone  from 
his  sight ;  an'  the  chill  touch  is  with  him  in 
rememberin'." 

An'  Ethlenn  laid  her  little  white  hand — 
like  a  blossom  it  was — on  a  knife  that  hung 
in  her  girdle,  gleamin'  like  clear  crystal.     At 


92        THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

last  she  spoke — lookin'  in  the  deep  o'  the 
fire. 

*'  'TIs  the  sound  o'  horse's  feet  beyant  the 
ford  I'm  hearin'." 

The  spinner  rested  her  distaff  an'  heark- 
ened. 

**Nay,"  says  she;  *"tis  but  the  beatin'  o' 
the  surf  at  the  foot  o'  the  cliff." 

**  An'  I  hear  the  voice  of  a  man  urgin'  his 
horse  to  the  ford." 

The  weaver  leaned  her  head  back  an'  was 
still,  while  the  fire-sparks  flew  up. 

*'  'Tis  naught  but  the  moanin'  o'  the  night 
owls,  Lady  Ethlenn,"  says  she,  an'  turned  to 
her  loom. 

**  An'  sure,  'tis  the  clankin'  of  armour  is  in 
me  ears,  an'  one  stands  by  the  door  waitin' 
to  knock ! "  called  out  Ethlenn. 

"  Who  dares  ? "  cried  the  harp  player, 
sthrikin'  a  wild  note ;  an'  all  sprang  to  their 
feet  as  they  heard  a  sudden  rappin'  without. 

None  moved,  but  in  another  breath  the 
door  was  flung  wide,  an'  on  the  threshold 
stood   a    tall,    sthrong   soldier.      The   light 


ETHLENN  O'  THE  MIST  93 
from  within  shone  on  his  armour,  all  made 
o'  linked  silver  rings  ;  an*  his  face  was  that 
o'  one  well  used  to  commandin'.  He  looked 
for  a  time  at  Ethlenn,  wondherin'  no  more 
at  the  tales  told  o*  her  beauty. 

She  glanced  at  him,  careless  like,  an' 
turned  back  to  her  seat  by  the  hearth — 
her  pale  brown  hair  fallin'  wavin'  round 
her  from  the  circlet  o'  gold  on  her  head 
like  the  cloud  above  a  watherfall ;  an'  the 
long  lashes  drooped  over  her  dark  eyes — 
as  she  had  no  thought  o'  the  sthranger  in 
her  hall. 

An'  the  spinner  sent  her  distaff  twirlin' 
on  ;  an'  on  flew  the  shinin'  shuttle  through 
the  web  in  the  loom ;  but  the  third — an' 
Deoin  was  her  name — let  her  harp  fall 
clangin'  to  the  floor  as  she  faced  him. 

"  Yer  will?"  says  she,  comin'  forward. 

"'Tis  by  no  will  o'  mine  I  come,  but  for 
carryin'  a  word  from  King  Murdough,  over- 
lord on  the  shores  o'  Moyle,"  answered  the 
warrior. 

**  Is    he   over-lord    o'    the    mist    an'    the 


94        THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

shadow  ? "  asked  the  one  weavin',  standin' 
slendher  an'  proud  at  the  loom. 

"  Nay  ;  an'  for  that  am  I  come  to  Lady 
Ethlenn  to  ask  o'  her  what  none  other  can 
grant." 

At  that  Ethlenn  turned  her  head  an' 
signed  him  to  a  bench  before  her. 

"  Yer  name  ?  "    she  asked. 

**Cathal  o'  the  Mountain,"  answered  the 
man,  seatin'  himself.  An'  a  chill  feelin'  went 
through  the  sthrong  heart  o'  him,  when  he 
reached  out  his  hands  to  warm  them,  an' 
found  no  more  heat  in  the  flames  than  if 
they'd  been  rays  o'  moonlight.  But  Ethlenn 
laughed. 

**  An'  what  will  King  Murdough  of 
Ethlenn  ?  " 

"  'Tis  yer  power  for  aidin'  Conan  o'  the 
Kingdom  he  asks,"  says  Cathal,  settin'  his 
mind  not  to  fear  her.  "  Many  days  ago 
he  sent  to  Torcall  the  Dane,  demandin' 
the  tribute  due.  An'  Torcall,  seein'  in  his 
harbour  the  long  ships  o'  Sitric  Silver- 
beard,   his   brother,  laughed   in   scorn  in'  o' 


ETHLENN    O'   THE    MIST      95 

Murdough ;  an'  Feargus  the  Black,  who 
rode  with  the  message,  could  ill  win  back 
to  the  King.  So  there  was  much  talkin' 
o'  war  through  the  land,  an'  many  men 
o'  stout  heart  gathered  round  the  castle  o' 
Murdough.  'Twas  thirty  an'  more  that  rode 
with  me ;  an'  many  more  with  other  chiefs. 
An'  with  Conan  to  lead,  we  took  the  road 
o'  the  river  to  the  sea. 

**  Now  Feargus,  that  before  had  been 
enemy  to  Prince  Conan,  fought  beside 
him  as  by  a  brother ;  an'  each  made  a 
vow  to  stand  by  the  other  in  war  an'  in 
time  o'  peace,  swearin'  before  the  crossed 
staff  an'  serpent.  Then  Kevin  the  groom, 
that  Feargus  had  beaten  for  mistreatin'  his 
horse,  slipped  off  an'  told  all  to  Torcall, 
within  the  town.  Ill  be  to  him  for  that 
same,  for  by  night  came  the  Danes,  an' 
took  Feargus  sleepin,  an'  carried  him  on  a 
boat,  an  so  to  the  Long  Wave,  where  Sitric 
has  him  in  keepin',  threatenin'  to  put  knife 
to  his  heart  if  Conan  tries  rescue,  or  does 
harm  to  the  town  o'  Torcall." 


96        THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

*^  But  why  come  to  me  ?"  asked  Ethlenn. 

''For  this.  All  men  know  the  power 
of  Ethlenn  over  mist  an'  shadow  ;  an'  would 
ye  come  with  me  to  the  shore,  an'  dhraw 
down  clouds  to  hide  the  sea,  we  might 
reach  the  ships  an'  bring  Feargus  safe  out 
o'  their  hands.  'Tis  no  aid  in  fightin'  we're 
askin',  but  the  chance  for  fair  battlin'  with 
the  Danes." 

Ethlenn  rose  to  her  feet,  an'  in  her  eyes 
was  the  comin'  storm.  Her  dress,  that 
had  been  white  as  foam  undher  the  moon, 
now  showed  grey  as  wreaths  o'  fog  creepin' 
up  on  the  sand,  an'  her  dagger  seemed  a 
sharp  icicle. 

"  Met  ye  any  on  yer  way  ?  "  she  asked. 

**  Ay,"  answered  Cathal.  "  Two  from  the 
court  o'  Murdough,  that  started  on  this 
same  errand  to  ye,  but  fell  by  the  way. 
Wherefore  had  I  more  need  to  press  on." 

**An'  was  it  for  that  sake  I  was  to  be 
dragged  from  shelter  an'  carried  prisoner 
to  Prince  Conan?"  cried  Ethlenn,  the  wind 
risin'  sudden  an'  shriekin'  round  the  outer 


ETHLENN    O'   THE    MIST      97 

walls  as  she  spoke.  An'  the  three  that 
served  her  left  their  places  an'  came  nigher. 
But  Cathal  stood  firm. 

**  May  sore  hurt  come  to  them  that  would 
have  done  it,"  says  he.  **  Lyin'  knaves  are 
any  who  put  ill  deeds  at  the  door  o'  Conan. 
'Tis  o'  yer  free  will  ye  shall  come  or  stay. 
As  for  those  who  came  before  me,  me  hand 
shall  pay  them.*' 

Then  Ethlenn  was  silent,  an'  all  that 
looked  to  her.  Even  the  risin'  wind  waited 
on  her  words.     At  last  she  spoke — 

*'  That  pay  in'  is  done,  Cathal  o*  the  Moun- 
tain. 'Tis  for  many  a  day  they  will  be 
mindin'  the  reckonin'  of  Ethlenn.  An'  here 
is  me  word  for  yer  fair  speakin'.  Here 
stand  I,  Ethlenn  o'  the  Mist ;  an'  a  sthrong 
warrior  are  ye,  Cathal.  If  ye  can  set  me 
on  yer  horse  fairly,  I  will  ride  with  ye  to 
the  camp  o'  Conan,  an'  raise  mist  to  cover 
the  waves.  If  ye  fail,  ye  shall  go  from  here 
without  hurt ;  an'  if  ye  win,  I  look  to  ye 
to  give  me  free  returnin'  when  I  have  aided 
Prince  Conan." 

G 


98        THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

Now  Cathal  was  watchin'  close,  an'  be- 
fore she  had  fair  ended  speakin'  he  shouted 
— **  Me  word  for  it ! "  an'  sprang  to  grasp 
her.  The  three  maids  laughed  an'  turned 
each  to  her  task,  not  fear  in'  for  Ethlenn. 

As  Cathal's  arms  met  where  she  had 
been,  Ethlenn  was  gone.  He  sudden  re- 
membered the  tales  told  o'  her ;  how  she 
could  change  her  seemin'  in  the  eyes  o' 
those  that  would  hold  her,  by  the  power 
lyin'  in  her  shinin'  knife.  So  for  all  the 
seemin'  he  held  fast,  knowin'  that  she  was 
there,  an'  feelin'  what  he  could  not  see. 

When  he  still  kept  his  hold,  the  first 
maid  laughed,  an'  there  in  his  arms  lay  a 
sheaf  o'  red  roses,  an'  their  sharp  thorns 
pierced  his  armour. 

Still  he  held  fast.  Then  the  second  maid 
called  out  a  wild  word,  an'  the  roses  were 
gone,  an'  through  his  arms  fluttered  many 
little  small  birdeens,  flyin'  in  his  face,  an' 
fair  takin'  his  breath.  Yet  quick  he  caught 
one  in  his  hand  an'  clasped  it  close,  for 
all  it  pecked  him  like  a  wild  fierce  thing. 


ETHLENN    O'   THE    MIST      99 

Then  Deoin  sthruck  her  harp,  an'  the  birds 
were  away,  an  rain  an'  chilly  sleet  were 
beatin'  over  him,  an'  all  the  hall  was  dark. 
He  came  nigh  to  lettin'  go,  then,  but  in 
his  palm  he  caught  some  dhrops  o'  wather, 
an'  covered  it  sure  with  the  other. 

Then  all  disappeared,  an'  the  pale  fire 
shone  out  again  ;  an'  while  there  was  still 
no  sign  of  Ethlenn,  he  sudden  felt  some- 
thin'  catch  in  the  rings  o'  his  armour. 
Swift  he  put  down  his  hand,  an'  'twas  the 
ice  cold  hilt  o'  the  crystal  dagger.  An' 
as  he  grasped  it,  there  stood  Ethlenn  with 
fear  in  her  eyes. 

"Give  me  the  dagger!"  she  cried,  **  an' 
I'll  ride  with  ye.  'Tis  o'  no  use  to  ye 
alone." 

"When  ye're  fair  seated  on  me  horse," 
laughed  Cathal,  knowin'  that  he'd  won. 

Without  ar^word  more,  she  was  out  o' 
the  hall  like  a  blown  feather,  to  where  the 
black  horse  was  waitin'.  Cathal  leaped  to 
the  saddle  an'  swung  her  up  before  him  ; 
then  put  the  knife  in  her  girdle  o'  threaded 


loo      THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

pearls.  Off  they  galloped  under  clear  moon- 
light, past  the  Ford  o'  the  Shadow ;  an 
swift  along  the  river  bank  to  where  Conan's 
men  were  gathered. 

There  was  cryin'  o'  welcome,  but  Conan 
lost  no  time.  Quick  he  led  her  to  the 
shore,  an'  pointed  to  the  warships  lyin' 
dark  under  the  moon. 

**  Give  us  the  boardin'  o'  them,  an'  choose 
what  reward  ye  will  from  King  Murdough, 
Lady  Ethlenn,"  says  he. 

Then  the  smile  glinted  in  her  eyes,  an 
she  ran  her  white  hands  through  her  silken 
hair ;  an'  before  any  knew  whence  it  came, 
the  sea  was  covered  with  heavy  fog,  an' 
the  moon  peered  among  clouds.  Conan 
an'  his  men  ran  to  the  waitin'  boats,  an* 
paddled  from  shore ;  but  Ethlenn  sat  on 
a  rock,  partin'  her  wavin'  hair.  Once  an' 
twice  came  the  clashin'  o'  swords  on  shields 
o'  bronze,  through  the  darkness ;  an'  at  last 
up  rose  a  wild  shoutin'  for  joy,  an'  the 
boats  swept  inshore,  with  Feargus  in  the 
foremost.     Conan  o'  the   Kingdom   sprang 


Quick  he  led  her  to  the  shore,  an'  pointed  to  the  warships  lyin' 
dark  under  the  moon." 


ETHLENN   O'   THE    MIST     iot 

to  the  beach  an'  spoke  to  her  that  had 
given  help —  *..'    •;  •   '•         '  '  ' 

''Have  yer  will;  for.  'tis^  ye  that  gave 
us  the  victory,"  says  he. 

**  Leave  to  return  whence  I  was  brought," 
says  she,  an'  would  have  naught  else. 
Then  Cathal  spoke. 

**  It  is  right  o'  mine  to  carry  her  home." 

The  two  looked  long  in  each  other's  eyes, 
an'  at  last  Ethlenn  shook  her  head. 

**  Nay,  Cathal.  Give  me  the  horse,  but 
'tis  for  ye  to  stay  here  for  the  fightin'. 
When  the  battle  is  won,  come  in  friend- 
ship where  ye  came  doubtin'."  Springin' 
to  the  saddle,  she  rode  away  up  the  river 
bank.  But  in  the  hand  o'  Cathal  lay  the 
dagger  o'  crystal,  an'  he  was  content. 

["  But   what    happened    after    the    fighting 
was  over  ?  " 

*'Ah,  sure,  'tis  unsafe  to  be  guessin' 
about  Ethlenn.  She  might  hear  yees. 
So  be  off,  an'  make  yer  feet  yer  frinds."] 


VI 
WILD  APPLES  AN'  GOLDEN  GRAIN 


VI 

WILD  APPLES  AN'  GOLDEN  GRAIN 

["  Ay,  wakin',  sleeping  or  dhreamin',  'tis 
forever  an'  more  tales  ye'd  be  afther 
hearkenin'  to.  Wait  till  the  day  when 
I  tell  yees  what  came  once  of  askin'  for 
too  many  o'  them.  No,  not  the  now. 
'Tis  a  far  other  sort  I've  in  mind  this 
morn's  mornin'."] 

'TwAS  Keevan  Sthrong-arm  ruled  the  men 
o'  the  north,  toward  the  sea-loughs.  High 
up  on  the  steep  o'  the  cliff  stood  his  walled 
tower ;  an'  from  the  top  o'  that  same  he 
could  see  far  out  across  the  old  sea,  where 
few  ships  ventured,  barrin'  the  Danes  o'  the 
North  Isles. 

Now  'twas  for  no  fearin'  o'  the  Danes  for 
himself  that  he  made  thick  walls  an'  sthrong 
doors   to    his   tower;    but   for    guardin'   his 


io6      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

daughter,  Ardanna,  that  was  sought  by 
many,  far  an'  wide.  A  wilful  maid  was 
that,  for  a  king's  daughter — an'  ill  fared  it 
with  all  who  came  courtin'  her.  Many  a  stout 
young  warrior  she  turned  away  sorrowin'  ; 
yet  all  the  days  she  was  growin'  fairer  an' 
more  contrary. 

At  last  came  an  hour  when  Keevan  sat  in 
his  high  seat  an'  looked  down  the  long  room. 
An'  'twas  none  but  greybeards  he  saw. 

''What  has  come  to  me  fightin'  men?" 
says  he  to  Manis,  that  was  wisest  o'  those  in 
his  court. 

**'Tis  for  lovin'  Ardanna  too  well  they've 
fared  off  in  the  world  to  seek  forgettin'," 
says  Manis,  shakin'  his  old  head. 

Keevan  stood  up  in  a  rage,  an'  turned  to 
Ardanna,  where  she  sat  braidin'  a  ribbon 
into  her  dark  hair,  an'  smilin'  to  her  own 
thought. 

'*  'Tis  wed  to  a  sthrong  man  ye  should 
have  been  this  many  a  day  past ! "  he  cried, 
*'an'  'tis  long  enough  I've  had  patience  with 
ye!     Now  'tis  a  task  I'll  be  afther  settin',  an' 


She  sat  braidin'  a  ribbon  into  her  dark  hair. 


APPLES  AN'  GOLDEN  GRAl^    107 

that  man  who  wins  through  it  shall  ye  wed, 
be  he  young  or  old,  warrior  or  herd  boy. 
Else  shall  ye  serve  in  field  an'  kitchen, 
bringin  wood  an'  carryin'  wather,  with  none 
to  aid." 

Then  the  laughin'  left  the  eyes  of  Ardanna. 
Small  wish  had  she  for  labourin' ;  yet  anger 
was  overpowerin'  all  else  in  her  heart,  an'  at 
her  lips  were  scornin'  words  as  she  glanced 
at  the  old  men  sittin'  half  sleepin'.  Half 
minded  was  she  to  lay  aside  rich  robes 
an'  rare  jewels,  an'  be  off  to  draw  wather 
by  the  river's  shore,  stayin'  free  from 
marryin'. 

A  sudden  stirrin'  came  at  the  outer  gate  ; 
an'  in  another  stroke  o'  time  two  men  were 
standin'  within  the  door  o'  the  great  hall  o' 
Keevan  Sthrong-arm.  Dressed  in  green 
they  were,  an'  so  like  that  scarce  could  any 
have  told  one  from  the  other.  Each  had  a 
bright  sword  hangin'  at  his  side  ;  an'  over 
their  broad  shouldhers  fell  the  long,  yellow 
hair,  curlin'  fine  as  gold. 

Ardanna  stood  lookin'  at  them,  half  fearin' 


io8      THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

what  might  be  comin' ;  but  Keevan  strode 
down  to  greet  them. 

*'  'Tis  in  a  good  hour  yeVe  come  to  me 
roof,"  says  he.  ''I've  somewhat  to  tell  in 
the  ears  o'  them  that  choose  to  hearken,  be 
they  friends  or  foes.  Here  stands  Ardanna, 
daughter  o'  mine.  Fair  to  see  is  she,  yet 
through  her  folly  have  many  good  men  gone 
from  me.  Hear  this  word — not  given  lightly. 
The  hand  of  Ardanna  shall  be  for  him  who 
gathers  wild  apples  an'  harvests  golden  grain 
in  the  high  valley  o'  Rinn,  an'  brings  them 
to  me." 

The  foremost  o'  the  two  turned  eager  to 
his  brother — 

*'  'Tis  a  quest  for  us,"  says  he. 

"  Ay,"  answered  the  other,  **  if  it  so  please 
the  Lady  Ardanna." 

Wonderin'  she  was  at  seein'  two  men  so 
near  like  in  face  ail'  bearin'. 

"  An'  if  ye  both  win  through  ? "  she 
asked. 

**  Then  shall  ye  set  us  another  task,  an'  it 
may  be  one  afther  that.      No  thought  had 


APPLES  AN'  GOLDEN  GRAIN    109 

we  o'  provin'  strength  against  each  other ; 
but  now  must  it  be  seen  which  of  us 
be  the  man  worthy  of  Ardanna  the  way- 
ward." 

'Twas  red  as  sundown  her  cheeks  grew 
at  that  word,  knowin'  it  well  merited  ;  but 
Keevan  shook  with  a  mighty  laugh. 

**  As  ye  have  said,  so  shall  it  be,"  says  he. 
"  An'  now  what  man's  men  are  ye  ?  " 

**  The  men  o'  no  man  livin',"  says  the  fore- 
most, ''now  that  Ingri,  our  father,  lives  no 
longer,  an'  the  home  of  our  dwellin'  lies 
wasted  with  fire.  Fionn  am  I,  an'  this,  at  me 
side,  is  Fergal.  In  the  same  hour  were 
we  born ;  an'  the  quest  is  ours,  Keevan 
S  throng-arm." 

*'  I  have  said  it,"  answered  Keevan,  gruff 
like.  He  called  servin'  men,  an'  set  the  two 
brothers  down  to  great  platters  o'  roasted 
meat ;  an'  Ardanna  brought  stone  flagons  o' 
foamin'  mead,  one  to  each  man.  So  they  ate 
an'  drank  like  stout  heroes,  till  hunger  an' 
thirst  were  past. 

Up  beyant  sat  Keevan,  his  chin  restin'  in 


no      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

his  hand,  an'  his  heavy  beard  coverin'  both 
like  driftin'  snow. 

**  If  ye  are  as  like  in  strength  as  in  face 
an'  body,  'twill  be  a  long  day  before  Ardanna 
is  safe  wedded,"  says  he. 

'*Ay,  but  Fergal,  me  brother,  has  more 
power  of  arm  than  I,"  says  Fionn. 

"An'  great  wisdom  has  Fionn,  beyant 
aught  o'  mine,"  laughed  Fergal. 

Then  Ardanna,  sittin'  in  shadow,  saw 
wherein  they  differed.  For  while  Fergal, 
that  was  more  hardy,  had  eyes  laughin'  an' 
eager ;  Fionn  sat  ever  watchful  an'  cool, 
waitin'  for  what  should  come.  Yet  through 
all  else  was  a  lovin'  between  them  that  would 
not  be  hidin'. 

Now  the  night  came  on,  an'  in  the  great 
hall  was  singin'  an'  harpin' ;  an'  the  blaze 
o'  logs  on  the  wide  hearth  lighted  up  all 
around.  By  Ardanna  sat  her  old  nurse, 
Mor,  that  knew  many  things  hidden  from 
wise  men.  An'  says  Ardanna  to  her, 
whisperin' — 

''Is  there  no  charm  to  aid  the  man  who 


APPLES  AN'  GOLDEN  GRAIN    iii 

would  gather  wild  apples  in  the  high  valley 
o'  Rinn?" 

Mor  bent  her  head,  an  thought  long.  At 
last  she  plucked  three  long  hairs  from  the 
flowin'  locks  o'  Princess  Ardanna. 

"  Bind  them  in  a  sheaf  with  these,  twisted 
thrice ;  an'  safe  will  they  be  brought  home 
to  Keevan." 

Ardanna  glanced  round,  an'  passed  care- 
less like  across  the  hall  to  where  sat  Fergal. 
An'  while  none  were  noticin',  she  gave  him 
the  three  hairs,  an'  told  him  the  charm, 
scarce  breathin'. 

Fergal  opened  wide  eyes. 

"An'  where  is  the  man  can  bind  apples 
in  a  sheaf?"  says  he;  but  careful  that  none 
should  be  afther  hearin*. 

"That  I  know  not,"  says  Ardanna.  "'Tis 
the  counsel  o'  Mor,  who  sees  clear  what  is 
hidden  from  many  with  great  wisdom." 

Then  Fergal  nodded,  content  an'  smilin', 
an'  laid  the  three  hairs,  coiled  in  a  ring,  in 
his  huntin'  pouch.  He  kissed  the  little  soft 
hand    that    had   given   them ;   an'  Ardanna 


112      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

thought  to  herself  how  a  sthrong  man  would 
be  a  safeguard  between  her  and  all  ills. 

In  the  meantime  Keevan  S throng-arm  was 
talkin'  low  an'  earnest  with  Manis,  that  had 
told  him  the  raison  o'  many  forsakin'  him. 
An'  afther  much  colloguin'  he  beckoned 
Fionn  to  come  near.  An'  says  he,  lowerin' 
his  voice — 

**  'Twill  take  more  wisdom  nor  strength  to 
be  masther  o'  the  will  o'  the  wilful.  Ill  is 
golden  grain  to  harvest  in  the  high  valley 
o'  Rinn.  Take  ye  this  little  small  net  o' 
silk,  an'  in  it  ye  may  bring  home  what  would 
slip  through  finer  holes." 

Fionn  stared  at  him,  mazed  like ;  but 
wisdom  was  his  not  to  speak  when  words 
served  no  purpose,  an'  he  gathered  the  little 
small  net  in  his  hand,  an'  folded  it  beneath 
his  belt.  An'  afther  that  all  went  to 
rest. 

When  morn  began  to  light  the  tops  o'  the 
eastern  hills,  Fionn  and  Fergal  stood  before 
the  gate  o'  the  tower,  with  Keevan  an'  Prin- 
cess Ardanna,  an'  all  who  served  their  will, 


APPLES  AN'  GOLDEN  GRAIN    113 

waitin'  to  see  the  champions  ride  on  their 
questin'. 

Wilful  still  was  the  face  o'  the  girleen  that 
was  cause  for  their  goin' ;  but  when  at  last 
both  kissed  her  hand,  an'  rode  off  lightly  to 
meet  the  risin'  sun,  she  went  to  the  top  o' 
the  tower,  an'  knelt  there  on  the  cold,  rough 
stones,  watchin'  their  goin'  till  naught 
could  be  seen  more  for  the  turnin'  o'  the 
road. 

A  long  ride  was  it  to  the  hills,  an'  hot  was 
the  sun  as  it  came  up  overhead.  When  the 
shadows  began  to  turn  before  them,  they 
saw  a  tall  cliff  fornenst  them,  an'  hills  risin' 
ever  above  it. 

"  There  lies  the  high  valley  o'  Rinn,"  says 
Fionn,  musin'  to  himself. 

**An'  how  may  we  best  reach  it?"  asked 
Fergal.     *'  'Tis  far  an  away  over  our  heads." 

**  There  is  but  one  road,"  says  Fionn,  '*an' 
that  the  cliff-side.  Here  must  we  leave  our 
horses,  an'  climb  up  how  we  may,  for  the 
honourin'  of  Ardanna." 

So  both  dismounted,  an'  tied  the  weary 

H 


114      THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

horses  in  the  shade,  where  was  runnin' 
wather  near  by. 

Fionn  thought  o'  the  little  small  net,  an' 
said  naught ;  but  Fergal  put  his  hand  in  his 
pouch,  an'  touched  the  circle  o'  fine  hair. 
*'  For  honourin'  Ardanna ! "  says  he,  an'  was 
off  swift  to  the  foot  o'  the  cliff.  Fionn  was 
ready  at  his  heels,  an'  up  they  sprang,  leapin' 
across  hollows,  an'  swingin'  themselves  up 
by  holdin'  to  the  points  o'  rock. 

Once  the  foot  o'  Fionn  slipped  on  a  loose 
pebble,  an'  naught  saved  his  fallin'  back  but 
the  swift  hand  an'  sthrong  o'  Fergal,  reached 
out  to  save.  An'  again  was  Fergal  nigh  to 
throwin'  his  full  weight  on  the  branch  of  an 
ill-rooted  bush,  but  was  warned  by  the  sharp 
cry  o'  Fionn,  his  brother. 

'Twas  a  weary  sthruggle  before  they 
reached  the  top  o'  the  cliff,  but  neither  could 
bide  seein'  his  brother  laggin'  behind  with- 
out aidin'  him  ;  an'  as  the  sun's  fire  dipped 
into  the  western  sea,  they  stood  with  clasped 
hands  watchin'  it  sink. 

A  wild  counthry  it  was  above  there,  with 


APPLES  AN'  GOLDEN  GRAIN    115 

tangled  vines  for  trippin'  their  feet,  an'  thorny 
bushes  for  hindherin'  goin. 

"Wiser  to  sleep  now,  an'  start  the  task 
by  full  day,"  counselled  Fionn,  an'  Fergal 
nodded ;  so  they  rested  on  the  coarse  grass, 
sleepin'  sound  as  in  the  tower  o'  Keevan 
Sthrong-arm. 

At  the  first  glint  o'  dawn  they  were  on 
their  feet,  eager  an'  glowin'. 

**Each  choose  a  path,"  says  Fergal,  **an' 
meet  here  when  the  sun  is  fair  overhead." 

''  Well  thought,"  answered  Fionn.  **  Will 
ye  go  north  or  south  ?  " 

"  Southward  is  the  way  o'  the  wind,"  says 
Fergal.     "  I  face  it  to  the  north." 

**  I  follow  it  toward  the  south,"  says 
Fionn  ;  an  they  parted,  each  breakin'  way 
for  himself  through  the  bushes. 

Now  the  valley  o'  Rinn  was  bound  about 
with  higher  walls  o'  rock  that  no  man  livin' 
could  pass  beyant,  an'  'twas  o'  no  great 
length  nor  breadth.  So  just  at  noon  the  two 
brothers  came  crashin'  through  the  under- 
growth, an'  met  facin'. 


ii6      THE    SONS    O'   CORMAC 

"  Here  is  me  sheaf  o'  golden  grain,"  says 
Fergal,  pantin  with  the  weight  o'  the  burden. 
An'  '*  Here  are  wild  apples  for  Keevan," 
laughed  Fionn,  droppin'  them  on  the  grass 
from  a  fold  o'  his  cloak. 

**  Let  them  lie  here,"  says  Fergal.  "  None 
will  lay  hand  on  them  while  ye  search  for 
ripe  grain,  where  I  found  a  plenty  growin' 
to  the  north;  an'  I'll  look  to  the  south  for 
the  wild  apples  growin'." 

"  'Tis  a  wise  word,"  says  Fionn ;  so  not 
waitin'  for  eatin',  or  for  aught  but  a  sup  o' 
cold  wather  from  a  little  sthream  that  ran 
down  the  cliff-side,  they  parted  again,  an' 
went  their  ways.  An'  'tis  a  thrue  word  that 
never  in  all  the  valley  o'  Rinn  could  Fergal 
come  on  a  tree  o'  wild  apples ;  nor  for  all 
his  searchin'  could  Fionn  meet  with  a  stalk 
o'  yellow  grain  to  put  in  his  net.  Worn  an' 
footsore  they  sat  at  last  in  the  place  where 
they'd  slept,  lookin'  each  at  what  his  brother 
had  brought. 

"  A  queer  task  is  this,"  says  Fergal  at 
last.     *'Aisy  what  was  of  it,   but  little  for 


APPLES  AN'  GOLDEN  GRAIN    117 

our  pains.  An'  to  which  will  Keevan 
Sthrong-arm  give  the  princess  ? " 

''Time  enough  for  that  when  we've  our 
harvestin'  safe  in  his  tower,"  says  Fionn. 

"Ay,  but  a  light  matther  is  the  goin' 
back,"  laughed  Fergal. 

*'  Wait  an'  see,"  says  Fionn  ;  an'  stoopin* 
together,  each  took  up  his  burden  an'  started 
to  climb  down  the  cliff,  for  no  other  path  was 
known. 

Ill  farin'  was  it ;  an'  before  long  Fionn 
gave  a  sthrange  cry.  Fergal,  lookin'  across 
to  him,  saw  a  fearsome  sight.  The  apples, 
happed  up  in  his  cloak,  were  sendin'  up  tall 
shoots  o'  green,  an'  branches  growin'  ever 
thicker  ;  an'  'twas  vain  for  Fionn  to  grasp 
them  to  him.  With  a  spring,  Fergal  reached 
his  side,  an'  catchin'  the  three  hairs  from  his 
pouch,  twisted  them  thrice  an'  threw  them 
in  the  branches.  An'  on  the  instant  they 
were  bound  together  in  a  sheaf,  an'  the 
weight  o'  them  was  gone  entirely,  so  that 
Fionn  had  no  more  throuble  in  gettin'  down 
the  rocks. 


ii8      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

But  now  'twas  Fergal's  turn  to  need 
helpin'.  As  he  grasped  the  golden  grain 
more  firm  like,  all  sudden  his  feet  were 
tangled  with  the  roots  it  sent  down,  an'  he 
stumbled  an'  nigh  went  crashin'  down  to  his 
death. 

Fionn,  lookin'  back,  saw  his  plight,  an' 
for  a  breath  he  waited,  rememberin'  Prin- 
cess Ardanna.  Then  he  dashed  away  the 
evil  dhreamin',  an'  quick  as  light  he  drew 
the  net  from  his  belt,  flinging  it  round  the 
sproutin'  grain.  An'  the  roots  were  all 
caught  in ;  an'  Fergal  reached  the  ground 
below  with  ne'er  a  slip  afther. 

Few  words  passed  between  them  as  they 
mounted  horse  an'  rode  westward  ;  but  as 
they  came  to  the  turn  in  the  road,  Fionn 
drew  rein,  an'  Fergal  likewise. 

"  Ardanna  should  be  for  ye,"  says  Fionn, 
**  for  ye  carry  her  the  great  sheaf  o'  golden 
grain,  an'  I  found  ne'er  a  stalk." 

"  By  yer  aid  I  won  it,"  says  Fergal. 
"  An'  ye  found  wild  apples  where  I  saw 
none  afther." 


APPLES  AN'  GOLDEN  GRAIN    119 

"  An'  would  have  been  over  the  cliff  had 
ye  not  aided  in  time,"  says  Fionn. 

*"Tis  fair  foolery  for  us  to  try  rivallin','* 
says  Fergal,  "  yet  where's  him  shall  settle 
it?" 

"Wait,"  says  Fionn.  **'Twas  Keevan 
gave  me  the  net  that  lies  across  yer  grain." 

**  An'  'twas  Ardanna's  self  laid  three  hairs 
in  me  hand  for  bindin'  wild  apples,"  says 
Fergal. 

**Ay,  there  lies  the  puzzle  solved,"  cried 
Fionn.  **  Moreover,  'twas  in  me  mind  to 
leave  ye  without  helpin'  on  the  cliff-side, 
an'  foul  shame  would  it  have  been  to  me. 
Wherefore  is  this  word  a  just  one.  For 
me  was  the  thought  o'  Keevan  ;  but  for 
ye  is  the  heart  of  Ardanna." 

An'  together  they  rode  to  the  gate  o'  the 
seaward  tower,  an'  Fergal  carried  in  the 
burdens  an'  laid  them  at  the  feet  o'  Keevan  ; 
but  off  into  the  sunny  world  rode  Fionn, 
singin'  a  gay  song — to  seek  fairer  fortune 
with  a  light  heart — for  knowin'  that  he  had 
won  naught  by  faithlessness. 


VII 
KING   DIARMID   AN'   p6l 


VII 

KING   DIARMID   AN'   POL 

["Be  off,  now,  for  I'll  not  lave  me  work 
waltin'  while  I'm  rubbin'  me  brain  to 
think  of  old  wives'  talk !  Betther  to  let 
me  go  out,  peaceable  like,  as  Pol  said 
to  King  Diarmid,  in  place  o'  holdin'  yer 
nursery  door  to  kape  me  in.  A — ah, 
sure  an'  'tis  in  for  it  I  am,  afther  that 
careless  word  ;  so  sit  down,  with  yer 
red  apples  to  roast,  an'  hearken  while 
I  tell  ye  how  it  came  about."] 

'TwAS  mighty  fond  o'  money  was  King 
Diarmid.  Not  for  spendin'  it  on  rich 
clothin',  or  to  have  a  fine  place  for  livin' 
in,  or  to  have  a  grand  big  army  at  his 
beckonin' ;  but  just  for  sake  o'  savin'  it  an' 
pilin'  it  up  in  his  sthrong  room — that  was 
the  only  shpot  in  all  his  castle  not  leakin' 


124      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

at  the  roof  an'  four  sides,  an'  lettin'  in  rain 
that  aisy. 

Sure,  so  little  was  he  for  gettin'  the  good 
o'  that  pile  o'  gold,  that  he  went  abroad  in 
a  faded  old  doublet  that  was  scarce  holdin' 
together,  but  for  bein'  mended  every  day 
by  Queen  Dorcha ;  an'  the  storms  beat  in 
free  on  the  floors  o'  the  old  tumble-down 
castle,  where  the  laste  bit  o'  wind  shook  the 
doors  an'  windows  nigh  to  fallin'  in  ;  an'  his 
servin'  men  an'  his  soldiers  were  paid  so  ill 
that  'twas  scant  good  he  got  o'  them. 

Even  his  sons  went  off  to  far  lands  to 
seek  fortune,  havin'  small  likin'  for  stayin' 
with  him  an'  nigh  on  starvin'  (forbye  they 
went  huntin',  unbeknownst  like,  an'  roasted 
their  game  over  a  fire  o'  sticks  in  the 
forest).  But  never  a  bit  matthered  all  that 
to  King  Diarmid,  while  his  pile  o'  sacks 
o'  money  was  fillin'  his  sthrong  room  half 
to  the  rafters,  an'  the  great  heavy  iron  key 
(the  one  bit  o'  shaped  iron  in  the  castle 
not  red  with  rustin')  hung  safe  at  his  belt, 
ready  for  usin'  day  or  night. 


KING    DIARMID    AN'   p6l      125 

Now  fine  sthrong  young  men  were  his 
sons,  an'  good  at  leapin'  an'  wrestlin'  an' 
fightin'  too  ;  an'  as  long  as  they  were  bidin' 
in  that  part  o'  the  counthry,  none  dreamed 
o'  meddlin'  with  King  Diarmid  ;  but  when 
the  neighbourin'  kings  and  high  chieftains 
learned  that  no  longer  would  any  o'  them 
stay  near  his  father,  an'  that  Diarmid's 
fightin'  men  were  growin'  fewer  each  day 
that  dawned,  they  minded  the  tales  told  o'  the 
raison  o'  that  same,  an'  began  to  think  how 
pleasin'  'twould  be  to  see  his  bags  o'  gold 
hoppin'  into  their  own  keepin' — that  would 
know  well  how  to  make  betther  use  o'  them. 

So  all  looked  round  to  search  out  good 
excuses  for  invadin'  his  lands ;  an'  before 
long  'twas  every  few  days  some  train  o' 
men  in  armour  came  riding  up  to  the  castle 
o'  Diarmid,  wantin'  him  to  pay  for  some 
hurt  done  by  his  people.  An'  while  Diarmid 
knew  'twas  but  shammin'  to  wring  gold 
from  him,  yet  so  scant  was  his  army,  an' 
so  full  o'  discontent,  that  he  dared  not 
threaten  resistin',  for   fearin'    he'd   need  to 


126      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

pay  up  his  soldiers  before  they'd  be  afther 
fightin*  his  battles. 

He  tried  puttin'  off  their  claimin'  with 
soft  words  an'  excuses,  but  ever  an'  always 
they  came  again,  an'  with  more  men  at 
their  backs,  demandin'  gold.  An'  at  last 
came  a  day  when  payin'  had  to  be  done, 
whatever  came  next,  for  men  o'  three  king- 
doms were  battherin'  at  his  gates,  that 
would  stand  but  little  o'  such  threatment. 
Mournin'  he  was  as  he  sent  word  for 
openin'  the  doors  an'  lettin'  them  in ;  an' 
a  long  face  was  his,  as  he  stood  peerin 
at  a  little  hole  in  the  wall,  watchin'  them 
ridin'  away  afther,  each  by  his  own  road, 
an'  carryin'  the  good  gold  before  them  on 
their  saddle-bows. 

He  locked  up  the  low  iron  door,  an' 
raged  round  somethin'  fearful,  so  that  poor 
Queen  Dorcha  was  dreadin'  lest  her  life 
might  go  next.  When  he  had  made  an 
end  o'  stravagin'  an'  dancin'  furious  up  stairs 
an  down  the  halls,  he  went  out  an'  sat  at 
the  cross  roads  talkin'  to  himself. 


KING    DIARMID   AN'    p6l      127 

**'Tis  a  beggar  Til  be  before  me  hour!" 
says  he.  '*  An'  me  ungrateful  sons  leavin' 
me  to  be  plundhered  unmerciful  like.  An' 
when  those  villains  o'  King  Mahon  an' 
King  Duvan  an'  his  brother  get  home  an 
tell  their  masthers  that  I've  gold  laid  up, 
'tis  no  peace  o'  me  life  I'll  be  havin'.  An' 
none  to  turn  to  for  tellin'  me  what  to  do 
to  get  the  betther  o'  them  an'  their  plottin' 
to  rob  me." 

Now  while  he  was  sittin'  lamentin'  he 
heard  a  quare  small  sound  behind  him,  in 
the  long  grass ;  an'  whippin'  round  quick 
an'  unexpected,  he  caught  sight  o'  some- 
thin'  scarlet  slippin'  past  him.  Sudden  as 
a  flash  he  reached  for  it ;  an'  though  he 
lost  balance  an'  went  heels  over  head  off  the 
stone  where  he'd  been  perchin',  yet  when  he 
picked  himself  up  an'  shook  the  dust  from 
his  old  duds,  he  was  still  holdin'  on  to  the 
bit  o'  red,  that  was  a  wee  small  pointed  cap. 

He  looked  at  it,  in  an'  outside,  as  if  he 
was  hopin'  to  find  gold  in  it;  an'  then  an 
odd  bit  of  a  voice  piped  up — 


128      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

**  'Tis  me  cap  o'  power  ye're  squeezin' 
in  yer  big  awkward  hands.  Give  it  to  me, 
or  may  evil  follow  ye  all  the  way  ye  go — 
sittin'  or  standin'  or  goin'  an'  payin'  gold." 

This  last  frighted  King  Diarmid,  an'  he 
looked  up  from  the  wee  thing,  an'  there 
in  the  dust  o'  the  road  stood  none  other 
than  the  king  o'  the  Little  People,  holdin' 
out  his  hand,  an'  hoppin'  from  one  foot 
to  its  mate  for  eagerness  to  have  his  own 
again.  But  King  Diarmid  was  crafty,  havin' 
heard  much  o'  what  the  Little  People  were 
able  to  do. 

"  What'll  ye  give  me  for  returnin'  it."*" 
asked  he. 

*'  Whatever  ye've  a  mind  to  ask  for  while 
Tm  afther  counting  ten,"  says  the  little  man  ; 
an'  with  that  he  began  —  "  One  !  Two  ! 
Three ! "  —  an'  thrue  it  was  that  King 
Diarmid  could  think  o'  naught  but  what 
had  been  in  his  mind  the  moment  b^ore. 

**  Some  one  to  advise  me  how  to  get 
the  betther  o'  they  robbers,"  he  gasped, 
fearin'    that    he'd    not    get    the   words    out 


KING   DIARMID   AN'   p6l     129 

fast  enough.  But  the  little  king  laughed, 
with  somethin'  wickeder  nor  words  in  the 
chuckle  o'  him. 

''That  I  will,"  says  he.  ''An'  a  fine 
counsellor  ye'll  be  afther  findin'  him.  Sure, 
Pol  is  his  name ;  an'  advice  is  the  very 
marrow  o'  his  bones  an'  the  blood  o'  his 
body,  so  don't  be  usin'  him  up  too  fast, 
an'  be  left  wantin'  him." 

With  that  he  pulled  a  wee,  tiny  dotteen 
of  a  man  from  his  own  pouch,  an'  held  him 
up  like  a  doll  in  his  hand. 

"  Grow  bigger ! "  says  he  to  that  same. 
"  Grow  bigger !  Grow  up  !  Grow  up  !  I'm 
tellin'  ye  what's  for  yer  good.  Grow  up ! 
Grow  up !  "  An'  as  he  spoke,  the  wee  thing 
began  to  take  on  size ;  an'  before  King 
Diarmid's  eyes  it  sudden  grew  to  be  as  high 
as  the  king  o'  the  Little  People,  an'  mighty 
like  him  to  look  at. 

"'Twas  advice  I  was  givin'  him,  ye  see," 
says  the  small  king,  settin'  him  down  in 
the  road,  an'  snatchin'  his  cap.  '"'Tis 
that  he  lives  on.      But  keep  him  on  scant 


I30      THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

allowance,  cautious  like,  or  he'll  masther  ye. 
On  the  other  hand,  see  that  ye  don't  ask 
too  much  o'  him  at  one  advisin',  an'  that 
ye  follow  the  word  he  gives."  An'  the  bit 
king  was  gone  like  a  puff  o'  smoke. 

King  Diarmid  quick  caught  up  the  little 
counsellor,  an'  ran  home  with  him  to  the 
castle,  an'  set  him  in  a  corner  while  he  took 
breath. 

"  Ye  must  lodge  me  in  a  room  where  no 
rain  comes  in,"  says  Pol,  lookin'  round  an' 
here  an'  there  at  the  broken  windows  an' 
the  sinkin'  rafthers,  an'  at  the  holes  in  the 
roof  where  the  sun  was  pourin'  in. 

**  But  there's  none,  only  me  sthrong  room," 
says  Diarmid,  fearful  for  his  store  o'  gold 
pieces. 

"  Then  must  ye  put  me  there,"  says  the 
little  man.     An'  so  it  had  to  be. 

Now  before  long,  by  heedin'  the  advisin' 
o'  wee  Pol,  King  Diarmid  began  to  be  gettin' 
even  with  all  his  foes,  an'  his  riches  grew 
without  disturbin' ;  for  he  learned  to  be 
afther   settin'   traps   that   showed   all    men 


"  What  shall  I  do  with  ye?"  he  asked,  puzzled  dreadful. 


KING    DIARMID   AN'    p6l     131 

trespassin'  how  he  was  no  more  to  be  put 
upon. 

But  'twas  careful  King  Diarmid  had  to 
be  ;  for  each  time  that  he  asked  concernin' 
somethin',  he  saw  the  thing  shrink  a  bit,  an' 
grow  less,  an'  he  remembered  how  the  king 
o'  the  Little  People  had  warned  him.  He'd 
no  idea  how  to  help  matthers  without  riskin' 
makin'  him  grow  too  big  ;  yet  'twas  not  aisy 
to  keep  from  gettin'  his  relief  from  throubles, 
an'  by  reason  o'  that  he  noticed,  one  day, 
that  his  small  man  was  but  half  the  size  he'd 
been. 

**  What  shall  I  do  with  ye  ? "  he  asked, 
puzzled  dreadful. 

"  Put  me  out  to  sit  in  the  middle  o'  the 
road,"  says  Pol,  **  an'  hearken  what  comes 
next." 

So  Diarmid  carried  him  out  to  the  cross 
roads,  an'  set  him  down ;  an'  there  he  started 
up  howlin',  so  that  all  comin  by  stopped  to 
look. 

''I've  hurt  me  toe  ! "  cried  Pol  the  coun- 
sellor. 


132      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

"  Put  it  in  the  runnin'  wather/*  says  one. 

**  Rub  it  well,"  says  another;  an  the  one 
afther  had  his  own  way  o'  curin'  bruises  with 
a  bit  o'  cobweb,  an'  told  it  to  him.  An'  with 
each  piece  of  advisin'  given  him  the  creature 
grew  fatter  an'  taller,  as  it  had  been  some- 
thin'  good  for  eatin'.  An'  when  he  was  as 
big  as  aforetime,  King  Diarmid  lugged  him 
home  again  to  keep  company  with  his  bags 
o'  riches,  that  had  grown  till  they  nigh  filled 
the  sthrong  room. 

**'Twas  a  dish  of  advice  I  was  needing" 
says  the  wee  thing.  **  Ye'd  well  nigh  starved 
me  for  want  o'  that  same." 

**An'  what  kind  do  ye  Hke?"  says 
Diarmid. 

**  Any  that  comes,"  was  the  answer.  **  'Tis 
all  alike  it  tastes."  So  whenever  the  King 
thought  wee  Pol  was  shrinkin'  because  o' 
givin'  him  too  much  advice,  he  ricommended 
him  to  tie  his  shoe,  or  to  brush  his  coat,  or 
somethin'  o'  the  sort ;  or  talked  serious  to 
him  about  bein'  generous ;  an'  he  grew  right 
away,  an'  throve  mightily. 


KING    DIARMID   AN'   p6l      133 

Now  a  time  came  when  his  sons  turned  up 
at  the  castle  gate  for  to  be  afther  visitin'  their 
old  home.  An  Diarmid  kept  the  door  o'  his 
money  room  fast  locked,  for  fear  o'  their 
gettin'  any,  or  perhaps  makin'  friends  with 
Pol,  an'  gettin'  advice  about  askin'  their 
father  for  a  few  gold  pieces. 

**'Tis  not  goin  to  do  at  all,  keepin'  me 
shut  up  in  here,"  says  the  little  man.  **  Bet- 
ther  to  let  me  out." 

**  Not  I,"  says  Diarmid.  "  I've  a  wiser 
plan  nor  that  in  me  mind." 

**  Ay,  but  let  me  go  peaceable,"  says  P61. 

'*  Keep  ye  still,"  says  Diarmid ;  an'  with 
that  word  for  his  supper,  the  wee  man  had 
to  be  content. 

But  him  that  was  used  to  runnin  round 
the  castle  at  will,  took  ill  to  bein'  behind 
bars ;  an'  all  King  Diarmid  could  get  from 
him  was,  **  Let  me  out !  let  me  out !  " 

Moreover,  the  sons  were  beginnin*  to  be 
curious  about  the  sthrange  thing  that  squealed 
in  beyant ;  an'  asked  more  questions  than 
Diarmid  found  comfortin'. 


134      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

There  came  a  night  when  thunder  rumbled 
an  growled  at  a  great  rate  ;  an'  the  lightnin' 
was  amazin  bright.  But  when  King  Diar- 
mid  went  in  for  his  good-night  peep  at  the 
little  man,  all  he  could  spy  was  a  small 
dark  thing  perched  on  the  bags,  up  in  a 
corner. 

''  I  advise  ye  solemnly  to  let  me  out  o' 
here,  or  ye'll  repent  it ! "  says  the  small  voice 
of  him. 

**  When  me  sons  is  gone,"  answered  Diar- 
mid,  not  even  offerin'  him  advice  on  bein' 
silent,  but  goin'  out  again  an'  fastenin'  the 
door.  An  he  an'  his  family  sat  down  to 
what  supper  there  was. 

An'  now  began  a  terrible  racketin',  drownin' 
the  roarin'  o'  thunder,  an'  the  dhrippin'  o' 
rain  on  their  supper  table,  by  that  same  token. 
'Twas  **  Let  me  out!"  in  a  big  voice  first; 
then  *'  Let  me  out !  "  in  one  fainter,  till  with 
it  all  ye'd  ha'  thought  each  stone  in  the 
cracked  old  castle  was  shoutin'  to  get  out 
of  its  lodgin'.  Hard  work  had  Diarmid 
to  hold  his  sons  from  searchin'  to  see  what 


KING    DIARMID   AN'    p6l      135 

was  wrong ;  but  at  last  the  squealin'  ceased, 
an'  all  was  quiet. 

But  when — that  very  next  morn's  mornin' 
— Diarmid  went  to  speak  with  his  counsellor, 
sure,  not  a  shadow  o'  Pol  was  to  be  found  in 
any  chink ;  for  he'd  done  naught  less  than 
squealin'  advice  to  King  Diarmid  to  let  him 
go  free,  till  he'd  squealed  himself — body  an' 
clothes  an'  small  red  nose — away  into  nothin' 
at  all,  an'  never  was  he  seen  more. 

[**  And  King   Diarmid  had  to  take  care  of 
his  money  all  alone  ?  " 

**  Ay,  sure  ;  an'  ye'll  know  now  what 
they  mean  when  ye  hear  them  sayin' 
that  a  man  shrinks  from  givin'  advice. 
So  be  off  while  there's  enough  o'  me 
left  to  tend  to  me  weedin'."] 


VIII 
FAIR   AILINN 


VIII 

FAIR  AILINN 

[**  Hark,  now,  at  the  cowld  wind  blowin', 
the  night !  'Tis  fine  an'  thankful  yees 
should  be  feelin'  to  be  in  warm  shelter, 
an'  not  wandherin'  abroad.  Sit  there 
by  the  fire,  an'  roast  yer  nuts  peaceable 
like,  while  I'm  afther  tellin'  yees  what 
happened  once,  on  a  night  as  like  this 
as  the  two  eyes  in  yer  faces."] 

Ay,  'twas  a  night  worse  nor  this,  that  the 
wind  came  howlin'  an  bringin'  the  snow 
down  from  the  mountains  an'  pilin'  it  at 
the  gates  o'  Breogan  the  Red.  But  little 
cared  he  for  what  the  wind  might  be  doin'. 
'Twas  chieftain  over  the  men  o'  Lough  Derg 
he  was,  an'  his  house  was  sthrong  built  o' 

hewn  oak  ;  an'  while  the  roof  was  but  low, 

139 


140      THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

the   buildin'  was  well  shielded   round  with 
walls  of  earth,  like  a  fort. 

In  by  a  fine  roarin'  fire  sat  Breogan  the 
Red — though  by  that  same  token  'twas  no 
longer  red,  but  white  with  years  his  hair 
was  grown.  An'  near  him,  at  the  feet  o 
one  spinnin',  sat  Aongas,  his  son,  carvin 
a  cup  for  dhrinkin'  from  a  bit  o'  wood 
while  the  men  an'  maids  went  about  their 
workin'.  Breogan  was  dhreamin'  o'  fightin 
long  past,  an'  Aongas  bent  over  his  carvin' 
but  ever  an'  often  they  turned  to  look  at 
Fair  Ailinn,  as  she  stood  in  the  glow  o'  the 
flames,  dhrawin'  the  thread  o'  white  wool 
from  her  distaff. 

Afther  a  bit  she  began  to  sing,  an'  so 
sweet  was  that  same  that  only  one  o'  the 
maids  heard  a  low  knockin'  at  the  outer 
gate.  She  stole  out,  quiet  like,  to  find  who 
was  there — an'  without  stood  an  old  man, 
carryin'  a  harp,  an'  seemin'  nigh  perishin' 
with  the  cowld.  She  signed  him  to  pass 
into  the  hall,  while  she  barred  the  gate 
behind  him  ;  so  alone  he  came  to  the  door- 


FAIR   AILINN  141 

way  an'  stood  watchin'  Fair  Ailinn  with 
hungry  eyes.  Never  one  looked  up  till  he 
said — 

"  Save  all  here." 

Then  all  eyes  turned  to  him,  an'  Ailinn, 
puttin'  down  distaff  an'  spindle,  came  forward 
an'  led  him  to  the  fire,  an'  took  his  tatthered 
old  cloak,  hangin'  it  to  dhry.  She  bid  a 
servin'  maid  bring  him  meat  an'  dhrink,  an' 
not  till  he  was  warmed  an'  fed  did  any  ask 
whither  he  came. 

**'Tis  a  singer  without  a  name  I  am,"  says 
he  to  Breogan,  **an'  a  wandherer  over  the 
land  to  seek  the  one  whose  touch  on  me 
harp  shall  bring  me  me  heart's  desire." 

**  An  what  may  that  be?"  asked  Aongas, 
lookin'  up  with  fearless  eyes  like  a  young 
eagle ;  but  the  old  man  shook  his  head  an' 
answered  naught. 

"  Have  ye  music  in  yer  harp  for  us  to 
hear?"  asked  Breogan. 

**  Ay,"  says  the  man — and  sthruck  so  loud 
an'  clear  a  note  that  all  ears  were  listenin' 
for  what  might  follow.     Then,  of  a  sudden 


142      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

like,  he  broke  into  a  war  song,  with  the 
clash  o'  swords  in  every  line — singin'  so 
sthrong  an'  fierce  that  Aongas  sprang  to 
his  feet  with  eyes  flashin'  as  he  had  seen 
battle  nigh. 

**  Too  rare  a  singer  ye  are  to  be  wan- 
dherin'  in  storm  an'  sleet,"  says  Breogan. 
**  Stay  here  while  ye  will."  An'  Fair  Ailinn 
brought  him  a  great  horn  o'  mead. 

Then  he  swept  the  sthrings  again,  an* 
'twas  a  lament  for  warriors  fallen  in  battle, 
an'  the  keenin'  o'  women  was  never  so  sad 
as  that  same.  An'  Breogan  shaded  his  face 
with  his  hand,  not  carin'  to  let  any  see  how 
he  was  feelin'. 

Now  afther  a  time  the  harper  rested  from 
playin',  an'  sat  on  the  bench  by  the  fire, 
leanin'  his  harp  on  his  knee.  An'  says 
Aongas — 

''Why  for  have  ye  no  head  carved  on  the 
pillar  o'  yer  harp  ?  'Tis  naught  but  a  shape- 
less block." 

'*  For  that  I  have  not  found  me  heart's 
desire,"    says   he.     *'  But   old    I'm   growin', 


FAIR   AILINN  143 

an'  no  longer  shall  it  be  without  form.  Give 
me  leave  to  carve  on  it  the  head  o'  yer  fair 
daughter,  Breogan,  son  o'  Cennedigh." 

"  Leave  have  ye,  though  no  child  o'  mine 
is  she  save  in  lovin'.  The  light  o'  me  house 
has  she  been  since  the  day  when  I  found 
her  lyin'  sleepin',  a  lost  birdeen,  on  the 
shores  o'  Lough  Derg."  An'  Breogan  laid 
his  hand  on  her  hair — like  floss  o'  black 
silk  it  was — as  she  knelt  by  him.  An'  she 
looked  up,  with  love  in  her  smilin'.  Then 
the  old  harper  caught  the  gravin'  knife  from 
the  hand  of  Aongas. 

**Bide  as  ye  are.  Fair  Ailinn,  till  I've  the 
image  o'  yer  face  carven  out,"  he  cried  ;  an' 
all  in  the  hall  pressed  nigher  to  see  what  he 
would  do. 

An'  while  Aongas  was  betther  nor  many 
at  the  shapin'  o'  wood  an'  horn  an'  bone, 
yet  he  could  do  naught  to  compare  with 
this.  As  they  stood  gazin',  the  very  face 
o'  Fair  Ailinn  seemed  to  grow  from  out  the 
block  o'  wood,  even  to  the  soft  curl  on  her 
fair  forehead,  an'  the  shinin'  jewel  in  her  ear. 


144      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

Aongas  looked  long,  an'  turned  away  sore 
against  his  will  ;  but  the  hour  had  come 
when  'twas  his  care  to  watch  at  the  gate 
till  morn,  an'  he  went  out  to  his  post. 

"  Rare  skill  ye  have,  harper  without  a 
name,"  says  Breogan,  *'an'  if  gold  can  buy 
the  work  o'  yer  hands,  'tis  for  ye  to  name 
yer  price." 

''  Wait,"  answered  the  harper.  **  Wait  an' 
hearken." 

Then  as  they  strained  their  ears  for 
listenin',  came  tremblin'  on  the  air  a  sound 
soft  as  the  singin'  o'  Fair  Ailinn,  or  the 
rustle  o'  wind  in  the  deep  o'  the  ferns.  An' 
the  men  an'  maids  ceased  their  comin'  an' 
goin',  an'  sank  speechless  on  the  benches 
round  the  hall ;  an  Breogan  nodded  drowsy 
like — an'  the  head  o'  Fair  Ailinn  drooped 
lower,  restin'  on  his  knee — an'  all  under  the 
roof,  forebye  the  harper  himself,  were  too 
heavy  in  sleep  for  dhreamin'. 

One  last  note  he  touched,  an'  up  rose  Fair 
Ailinn,  her  sweet  eyes  fast  closed,  an'  came 
toward  him  like  a  white  mist  blown  across 


''  Came  towards  him. 


FAIR   AILINN  145 

runnin'  wather.  The  face  o'  the  harper  was 
full  o'  wild  trlumphin\ 

**Gold  first,"  he  cried.  ''Give  it  in  me 
hands ! " 

He  pushed  the  harp  so  that  her  soft 
fingers  rested  on  the  sthrings,  an'  as  a  note 
wavered,  there  were  his  withered  old  hands 
heaped  with  shinin'  money. 

"  'Tis  me  heart's  desire ! "  he  shouted, 
knowin'  that  none  could  wake  to  hear.  He 
lifted  the  harp,  an'  stepped  backward  to- 
ward the  door,  playin'  a  song  so  wild  an' 
so  sthrange  that  Fair  Ailinn  followed,  ever 
nigher  to  that  harp  whose  head  was  like 
the  shadow  o'  her  own  in  the  dyin'  firelight, 
till  in  a  breath  she  vanished,  and  naught 
remained  but  the  image.  Quick  the  old 
man  threw  his  ragged  cloak  round  him,  took 
the  harp  on  his  shouldher,  an'  went  out  to 
the  gate,  where  stood  Aongas,  watchin'  in 
the  night  an'  dark. 

**  'Tis  not  goin'  out  ye  are ! "  says  the  lad. 

"Ay,"  says  the  harper.  At  sight  o'  his 
face   Aongas   fell    back,    for   the    gate   was 


146      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

swingin'  open  before  him  without  help  o' 
hand,  an'  before  he  knew  it  the  old  man 
was  out  an'  away.  At  that  same  moment 
the  snow  ceased  fallin',  an'  when  the  moon 
shone  from  behind  a  cloud,  no  man  was  to 
be  seen. 

Aongas  thought  sthrange  of  it,  an'  afther 
watchin'  an'  wondherin',  he  felt  it  right  to 
go  in  an'  speak  o'  the  matter  to  Breogan. 
An'  there,  heavy  in  sleep,  lay  Breogan,  an' 
round  him  the  men  an'  maids,  an'  no  touch 
o'  his  could  rouse  any  there.  He  went  to 
the  room  o'  Fair  Ailinn,  but  the  door  stood 
open,  an'  none  within.  He  ran  through 
house  an'  hall,  an'  without  in  the  courtyard, 
but  ne'er  a  footprint  was  in  the  snow,  barrin' 
his  own  an'  the  old  harper's.  Nowhere  was 
sign  o'  Fair  Ailinn,  an'  he  knew  that  she 
had  been  stolen  away. 

Only  half  knowin'  what  he  was  doin',  he 
caught  up  sword  an'  cloak,  an'  rushed  out 
to  follow  the  track  o'  the  harper  in  the  snow. 
Through  the  night  he  pushed  on  swiftly, 
past   the   little    Lough,    an'   over   the   hills, 


FAIR   AILINN  147 

goin'  ever  westward  toward  the  old  sea. 
Never  a  sight  had  he  o'  livin'  mortal,  though 
the  bright  o'  the  moon  showed  him  the  print 
o'  feet  that  seemed  never  to  weary.  But 
the  very  wind  blowin'  on  his  back  seemed 
helpin'  Aongas  forward,  an'  when  morn 
came,  he  was  near  a  half-ruined,  dark,  old 
castle,  on  a  crag  overlookin'  Mai  Bay,  where 
the  winter  waves  were  beatin'  up  on  the 
shore.  The  marks  led  to  a  closed  gate,  but 
he  waited  for  a  breath  before  beatin'  at  it. 
An'  in  that  moment  he  spied  a  bit  of  a 
fisher's  hut,  far  down  the  shore,  an  he 
thought  it  wise  to  ask  there  for  word  o'  Fair 
Ailinn  an'  the  old  harper. 

A  frightened  bit  of  a  lass  stood  in  the 
door,  an'  shook  her  head  at  his  questionin'. 

"'Tis  never  more  ye'll  see  her  if  she's 
been  stolen  away  by  Oisin,  son  o'  Lua," 
whispered  she.  "'Tis  a  terrible  sorcerer  he 
is,  an'  five  hunderd  year  has  he  lived  in  that 
castle,  with  ne'er  a  stone  fallen  or  a  hinge 
rusted  beyant  what  it  was  when  he  first 
went  in  at  the  door.      That  which  he  has 


148      THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

desired  has  he  played  on  his  harp,  an'  there 
before  him  would  be  the  thing  he  willed  to 
have.  But  in  these  days  much  o'  that  power 
has  gone  from  him,  for  his  wicked  doin's. 
Sleep,  an  rule  over  wind  an  wather  are  his ; 
but  the  gold  that  he  loves,  an'  the  renewin' 
o'  his  wicked  life,  must  be  played  for  him 
by  a  fair  maid  with  true  love  in  her  heart. 
For  that  will  he  have  stolen  Fair  Ailinn, 
an'  hidden  her  where  none  can  free  her  save 
that  man  who  has  no  fearin'  in  his  heart;  an' 
where's  he  who  fears  not  Oisin  ?  " 

Aongas  laughed,  with  eyes  sparklin'  like 
the  risin'  sun  on  the  sea.  "  No  fear  o'  livin' 
man  have  I,"  says  he.  **  Give  me  a  fisher's 
coat  in  place  o'  me  cloak,  an'  ashes  to  darken 
me  face,  an'  we  shall  see  what  will  come  o' 
the  power  o'  Oisin." 

So  the  fisher  lass  helped  him  to  change 
his  looks,  an'  Breogan  his  father  would 
not  have  known  him  for  the  fine  young 
warrior  he'd  seen  leavin'  the  hall  to  guard 
the  gate.  An'  up  to  the  castle  of  Oisin  he 
went    an'    knocked    boldly.      Afther    some 


FAIR  AILINN  149 

waitin'  the  harper  opened,  an'  already  he 
seemed  younger  nor  before. 

"  What's  yer  will  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  Me  boat  is  wrecked  on  the  rocks,"  says 
Aongas,  '*an'  no  way  o'  gainin'  me  livin' 
have  I.  Give  me  work,  an'  naught  but 
food  will  I  ask  in  return." 

Now  Oisin  was  weary  o'  the  work  o' 
carryin'  away  an'  storin'  the  gold  that  Fair 
Ailinn  had  played  for  him,  an'  little  thinkin' 
he  beckoned  the  lad  to  enter,  knowin'  that 
all  fishers  along  that  coast  knew  well  an' 
feared  the  breath  o'  his  name — knowin'  his 
power  over  wind  an'  wather,  by  reason  o' 
his  magic  harpin'. 

**  Carry  these  bags  to  the  tower  beyant," 
says  he,  **  while  I  sleep.  An'  afther  I'll  give 
ye  yer  food." 

Within,  Aongas  saw  a  long,  dark  hall,  with 
naught  o'  furnishin'  save  a  wooden  settle,  an' 
a  dusty,  broken  harp  by  it. 

"  Never  lay  hand  on  that,"  says  Oisin,  fol- 
lowin'  his  look.  **  If  ye  do,  'twill  vanish,  an' 
yer  life  will  be  mine  in  payment." 


150      THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

Aongas  nodded,  pretendin'  to  be  frighted 
at  the  thought ;  but  his  heart  leaped,  for  on 
the  pillar  o'  the  harp  he  saw  the  likeness 
o'  Fair  Ailinn.  So  Oisin  showed  him  where 
to  carry  the  bags  o'  money,  an'  watched  him 
a  bit  as  he  toiled  up  the  tower  stair  to  the 
sthrong  room — then  went  back  to  the  hall  an' 
lay  down  on  the  bench,  shammin'  sleepin'. 
But  he  had  a  quare  thought  that  within  the 
fisherman's  eyes  was  no  real  fear  o'  him,  an' 
danger  to  his  heart's  desire  lay  in  that  same, 
so  he  waited  for  Aongas  to  come  down  to 
try  him. 

An'  as  the  lad  bent  for  a  heavy  sack,  there 
was  a  terrible  barkin',  an'  he  saw  the  whole 
hall  filled  with  fierce  dogs,  comin'  at  him  to 
tear  him.  Aongas  looked  at  them,  careless 
like,  though  two  had  teeth  in  his  coat,  an' 
shook  Oisin  by  the  shouldher  o'  him. 

"Call  off  yer  beasts,"  says  he.  ** 'Tis  loath 
I  am  to  harm  them."  An'  there  was  a  ring 
in  his  voice  not  like  that  of  a  fisher  lad. 
Oisin  mutthered  a  word,  an'  the  hall  was 
clear  ;   but  still  he  seemed  sleepin'. 


FAIR   AILINN  151 

When  Aongas  came  down  the  stair  again, 
he  made  but  a  step  on  the  floor,  an'  sudden 
like  it  was  slidin'  away  from  under  his  feet, 
an'  all  the  walls  waverin'  as  if  to  fall  an' 
crush  him.  Quick  as  a  flash  he  gave  a 
spring  an'  landed  on  top  o'  Oisin  ;  an'  at  that 
all  was  as  before.  An'  the  ashes  fell  from 
his  face,  an'  Oisin  knew  him  ;  but  no  word 
he  spoke,  thinkin'  that  Aongas  might  as  well 
finish  the  carryin'  o'  the  treasure  before  bein' 
killed  for  followin'. 

The  third  time  came  Aongas,  when  'twas 
growin'  toward  night,  an'  all  the  sacks  o' 
gold  were  stored,  an'  his  service  ended. 
An'  as  he  bent  to  speak,  great  flames  burst 
in  through  all  the  windows  an'  doors,  an'  no 
way  o'  gettin'  out.  Aongas  saw  Oisin  dis- 
appear from  the  bench  where  he'd  been  lyin', 
like  a  shadow  afther  sunset,  an'  he  knew  that 
this  last  happenin'  was  no  jestin',  for  the  heat 
grew  ever  fiercer  ;  but  still  was  no  fearin' 
in  his  heart.  Lastly  his  eye  fell  on  the  harp. 
A  faint  tremblin'  sound  came  from  it,  an' 
the  thought  o'  seein'  the  face  o'  Fair  Ailinn, 


152      THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

though  'twas  but  carved  in  wood,  made  black 
an'  charred  by  fire,  was  more  nor  he  could 
dhream  o'  lettin'  come  to  pass. 

"  Betther  to  see  the  harp  vanish,  than 
that,"  says  he,  reckless.  "  Oisin  can  do  no 
more  nor  take  me  life  from  me,  be  it  by  fire 
or  sorcery." 

He  caught  the  harp  on  his  arm,  an'  sthruck 
ringin'  music  from  it.  An'  as  it  echoed  up 
into  the  smoky  rafters,  of  a  sudden  the  fire 
was  gone,  an'  in  the  dark  stood  Aongas, 
with  Fair  Ailinn  clasped  close  to  him,  an' 
the  wind  blowin'  cold  from  the  sea.  The 
moon  shone  in  at  a  high  window,  an'  on  the 
floor  lay  the  cloak  o'  Oisin.  Aongas  lifted  it 
to  wrap  about  Fair  Ailinn,  an'  there,  beneath, 
was  all  that  ever  men  saw  more  o'  Oisin  son  o' 
Lua.  An'  a  little  heap  o'  dust  was  that  same. 
Sure,  five  hunderd  years  had  he  worked  ill 
for  his  own  pleasure  ;  an'  when  his  enchantin' 
went  against  him,  the  years  came  back. 

"  A  good  endin',  that,  for  all  who  work 
evil,"  says  Aongas.  Catchin'  up  Fair  Ailinn, 
he  sprang  down  to  the  gate,  which    stood 


FAIR   AILINN  153 

swingin'  in  the  moon  shadows  as  the  wind 
blew,  for  the  bars  were  naught  but  heaps  o' 
rust  in  their  sockets. 

**  'Tis  for  home  we're  bound,"  laughed  he, 
with  a  light  heart. 

Now  thrue  it  is  that  when  they  reached 
the  house  o'  Breogan  the  Red,  all  lay  as 
Aongas  had  left  them,  sleepin'  this  way  an' 
that ;  an'  none  roused  till  Fair  Ailinn  laughed 
an'  sang  with  gladness  at  bein'  there  once 
more. 

Breogan  sat  up  an'  rubbed  his  eyes. 

"'Tis  dhreamin'  o'  dhreamin  I've  been," 
says  he,  **  but  I've  woke  in  time  for  a 
weddin'." 

An'  to  the  last  day  of  all  there,  none 
knew  that  they  had  lost  a  day  an'  a  night 
from  their  lives. 

[*'  And  was   the    old    man    never   heard   of 
again  ?  " 

"  Never  no  more,  for  he  blew  away 
entirely.  If  ye  doubt  me  word,  go  to 
Mai  Bay,  an'  see  what  a  power  o'  dust 
lies  on  the  shore  to  this  day."] 


IX 
THE   SERVIN'   O'   CULAIN 


IX 

THE    SERVIN'    O'    CULAIN 

['"  Nay,  nay,  then.  An  end  to  yer  chatter. 
Never  a  man  learned  his  lessons  by 
sittin'  down  an  paintin'  a  picture  o'  the 
teacher ;  an'  'tis  never  a  bridge  yees  will 
be  afther  crossin'  by  dhreamin'  o'  what's 
on  the  other  side.  'Tis  hard  work  that 
counts,  in  the  end.     Hear  now ! "] 

'TwAS  Culain  was  youngest  son  to  King 
Ciad  ;  an'  fonder  he  was  o'  lyin'  on  the  cliffs 
an'  hearkenin'  to  the  beatin'  o'  the  waves, 
or  o'  the  harpin'  an'  singin'  in  the  hall,  than 
o'  battlin'  an'  strife.  Yet  all  was  not  from 
wantin'  strength  an'  skill,  but  for  lackin' 
raison  for  tryin'  them. 

Fine  sthrong  men  were  his  two  brothers, 
an'  good  at   the  sword-play,   an'  had  scant 

patience  with  Culain  for  his  aisy-goin'  ways. 

157 


158      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

Yet  was  there  thrue  lovin'  between  them, 
an'  many  a  time  they  shielded  him  from  the 
wrath  o'  King  Ciad.  However,  at  last  an' 
at  length  he  got  an  inklin'  o'  what  like  his 
youngest  son  was  gettin'  to  be,  an'  one 
mornin'  he  called  the  three  to  him. 

"  'Tis  thinkin'  o'  sharin'  me  kingdom  be- 
tween the  three  o'  yees  I  am,"  says  he, 
"  bein'  as  I'm  growin'  old.  But  first  I'd  be 
afther  knowin'  what  each  o'  yees  has  done 
to  show  himself  a  man  worthy  o'  rulin'  men." 

Well  now,  they  looked  at  each  other,  not 
bein'  boastful  warriors,  but  either  waitin'  for 
his  brother  to  speak  before  him. 

**  What  now  ?  "  says  old  King  Ciad,  lookin' 
up  expectin'  under  his  white  brows. 

Then  spoke  up  Firbis,  that  was  eldest  : 
"  When  me  brother  Ingri  was  attacked  by 
the  men  o'  Torcal  the  Dane,  he  fought  his 
way  out,  five  to  one,  an'  reached  home  by 
wadin'  the  rapids  in  season  to  warn  us.  An' 
bitther  cold  was  the  wather  on  his  wounds." 

Then  Culain  says,  eager  like :  **  When 
the  wild  boar  came  nigh  to  killin'  me,  'twas 


THE    SERVIN'   O'   CULAIN     159 

Firbis  thrust  the  spear  into  his  throat, 
never  fearin'  for  himself.  An'  he  outwitted 
the  men  o'  the  North  Isles,  capturin'  their 
long  ships  when  they  were  ashore,  an' 
hindherin'  them  from  burnin'  the  dun." 

"An'  what  has  Culain  done  to  be  de- 
servin'  his  share  ?  "  asked  King  Ciad.  **  Has 
none  a  good  word  for  him,  nor  tale  of  a 
brave  deed  ? " 

"  Sthrong  of  arm  is  he,"  says  Firbis, 
slow  o'  speech,  **an'  can  sing  songs  o' 
battle  an'  tell  rare  tales  o'  heroes." 

*'  What  use  the  sthrong  arm  when  'tis 
put  to  no  good  purpose?"  says  the  King. 
"  Is  that  the  best  ye  have  to  tell  ?  " 

**Nay,"  says  Ingri.  **  But  yester-morn 
he  drew  Donncha,  the  groom,  from  a  deep 
pit  where  he  had  lain,  bruised,  through  the 
night,  an'  brought  him  in  on  his  shouldher ; 
an'  many  a  load  o'  fagots  has  he  carried 
through  the  forest  to  the  hut  o'  Bethoc, 
that  was  his  nurse." 

But  Culain  stood  silent. 

"  A  servin'    man    could    well   have   done 


i6o      THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

as  much,"  says  Ciad.  **  No  part  o'  this 
kingdom  o'  mine  is  for  one  who  has  done 
naught  to  win  it.  What  king  would  marry 
his  daughter  to  a  sluggard  ?  " 

Then  the  hot  blood  leapt  to  the  face  o' 
Culain. 

''Sluggard  shall  ye  name  me  no  longer!" 
he  cried.  **A  princess  will  I  win  for  me 
own,  an'  bring  her  to  share  me  birthright ; 
or  if  ye  will,  give  the  kingdom  to  Firbis 
an  Ingri,  an'  a  kingdom  o'  me  own  will  I 
conquer,  or  die  tryin." 

**  Well  spoken,"  answered  the  old  king, 
hidin'  the  gladness  that  warmed  his  heart 
at  the  words  o'  the  lad.  *'  But  as  I  say, 
so  shall  it  be.  Take  a  sword,  an'  what 
horse  ye  choose  ;  an'  a  purse  with  ten  gold 
pieces  will  I  give  to  ye ;  and  then  be  off 
into  the  world  to  seek  yer  fortune  an'  learn 
what  it  means  to  be  o'  the  blood  o'  kings. 
A  year  an'  a  day,  an'  two  days  more  I 
give  ye,  to  prove  that  ye've  the  heart  of  a 
brave  man,  an'  to  win  yer  right  to  a  third 
o'  me  lands." 


THE    SERVIN'   O'   CULAIN     i6i 

So  Culain  took  his  sthrong  sword,  an' 
the  purse  from  his  father's  hand,  an'  went 
down  to  get  a  horse  to  ride.  An'  there 
in  the  stable  stood  Bethoc,  the  crone  that 
had  been  nurse  to  his  mother  before  him. 

''  'Tis  out  in  the  world  ye're  goin',"  says 
she,  leanin'  on  her  staff. 

**  Ay,"  says  Culain,  stout  like. 

"Then  give  me  a  promise  before  ye 
mount.  For  though  they  may  call  ye  slug- 
gard, yet  have  ye  learned  o'  me  one  thing 
that  is  above  buyin'  in  battle  —  that  the 
word  of  a  king's  son  can  be  neither  bent 
nor  broken." 

**  Have  yer  promise,  then,  for  that  wise 
lesson,"  says  Culain,  waitin'  patient  for  what 
she  should  ask. 

"  Then  'tis  that  ye  heed  an'  remember 
an'  obey  the  words  I'm  afther  speakin'  to 
ye  now.  Hearken,  Culain,  son  o'  King 
Ciad.  'Tis  through  servin'  ye'll  gain  skill 
an'  power  that  could  come  to  ye  in  no 
other  way  ;  an'  through  that  same  ye'll  at 
last   reach    the    road   for  winnin'  the  good 


i62      THE    SONS    O*   CORMAC 

that's  comin'  to  ye  if  yer  heart  fails  not. 
Hold  fast  to  yer  word  once  given,  an' 
set  yer  hand  to  naught  without  carryin'  it 
through.  Mindin'  that,  all  will  go  well  in 
the  end,  though  it  seem  blacker  nor  storm 
in  winter.     Me  word  is  said." 

Then  Culain  dhropped  the  silken  purse 
in  her  withered  hand. 

**Ye'll  be  needin'  it  more  nor  meself," 
says  he  ;  an'  from  a  stall  he  took  the  best 
horse  that  offered.  Then,  with  a  wave  o' 
the  hand  to  the  ones  watchin'  at  the  gate, 
he  rode  away  into  the  deep  forest,  with  the 
words  o'  Bethoc  runnin'  ever  an'  all  the 
time  in  his  mind. 

For  many  an  hour  he  held  on  his  way, 
never  seein'  livin'  thing  (forbye  'twas  the 
birds  singin'  in  the  branches,  or  a  roe  deer 
leapin'  up  the  mountain  side),  till  he  came 
to  a  deep  valley,  far  from  the  sea.  An' 
there  he  came  on  a  low  hut,  built  o'  boughs ; 
an'  before  it  two  men  sittin',  fishin'  in  a 
little  small  sthream  that  ran  by,  convenient 
like.     Torn  an'  tatthered  lookin'  they  were, 


THE   SERVIN'   O'   CULAIN     163 

but  not  seemin'  to  mind  aught,  or  be  shamed 
by  their  quare  looks. 

**  Save  all  here,"  says  Culain,  dis- 
mounting and  stoopin'  to  dhrink  the  runnin' 
wather. 

**  'Tis  welcome  ye  are,"  says  the  first 
ragged  man,  pullin'  up  a  little  fish.  When 
the  second  fellow  saw  it  wrigglin'  on  the 
hook,  he  dhropped  his  own  line,  an'  they 
fell  to  throwin  dice  to  see  which  should 
have  it.  An'  Culain  had  never  seen  that 
done  at  all. 

**  Who  are  ye  ?  "  he  asked,  wondherin'. 

**  Jolly  beggar-men,"  says  the  first.  "  Taig 
am  I  ;  an'  this,  me  fellow,  is  Derg  o'  the  Mill, 
bein'  dhriven  out  o'  one  for  not  workin'." 

**An'  what  sort  o'  play  in'  is  that  ye're 
afther  ?  "  asked  Culain,  ever  one  to  be  aisy 
led  from  his  purpose,  an'  forgettin'  what 
errand  he  rode  on. 

**  Thry  it  an'  see,  if  ye've  aught  worth 
stakin',"  laughed  Derg  o'  the  Mill.  **'Tis 
rare  sport  ye'll  find  it,  an'  well  suitin'  a  fine 
lad  like  yerself " 


i64      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

Culain,  willin'  to  learn,  sat  down  on  the 
green  bank,  an'  began  throwin'  dice  with 
the  two  beggar-men,  stakin'  what  he  had 
against  the  small  triflin'  things  they  played 
for,  till  luck  left  him  entirely.  Sure,  first 
thing  he  knew,  the  horse  was  Taig's,  an' 
Derg  o'  the  Mill  was  flourishin'  the  fine 
sword  he'd  won. 

"We'll  be  afther  sellin'  them  quick,  to 
the  first  that  comes  passin'  by,"  says  Derg. 

"  Wait,"  says  Culain.  '*  Is  there  no  way 
for  me  to  get  them  again?  Ill  honour  is  it 
to  me  for  losin'  them." 

**  Have  ye  naught  else  to  stake  ?  "  asked 
Taig. 

"Nay,"  says  Culain,  "an'  no  more  would 
I  risk  if  I  had.  An  evil  day  is  this  wherein 
I'm  afther  meetin'  yees." 

"  Ay,  but  wait,"  says  Taig.  "  Three 
beggar-men  are  we  now,  an'  may  do 
great  things  as  any  king's  son,  if  we  fare 
out  into  the  world  together.  Will  ye  buy 
back  yer  horse  with  six  months  o'  servin' 
us?" 


THE    SERVIN*   O'   CULAIN     165 

"That  will  I,"  answered  Culain,  **an'  me 
sword  with  other  six." 

**Done,"  says  Derg.  "An  I'll  cast  in 
the  bargain  the  teachin'  o'  ye  how  to  wile 
singin'  birds,  an'  what  else  I  know ;  an'  Taig 
'11  give  ye  the  word  that  makes  flowers 
bloom  where  'tis  spoken.  An'  in  the  end 
ye  may  amount  to  somethin'  worthy  o' 
makin'  a  third  in  our  company,  an'  thravel- 
lin'  with  us  where  we  go." 

So  poor  Culain,  shamed  to  tell  them  how 
he  was  a  king's  son  seekin'  fortune  an'  a 
princess,  served  the  two  beggar-men,  dhraw- 
in'  wather  an'  buildin'  the  fire  an'  roastin' 
meat.  Many  a  time  he'd  have  given  much 
to  slip  away  by  night  an'  off  to  freedom,  but 
bound  by  his  given  word  he  was,  both  to 
the  beggar-men  that  had  won  his  horse  an' 
sword,  an'  to  Bethoc.  So  he  bent  to  his 
labourin'  with  a  will,  every  day  growin' 
sthronger  an'  more  active  ;  an'  many  a 
thrick  o'  cunnin'  sword-play  he  learned  o' 
Derg,  that  had  been  a  fightin'  man  till  he 
grew  too  lazy.     An'   Taig,  that  had  given 


i66      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

up  bein'  a  blacksmith  to  take  to  beggin', 
showed  him  many  a  sthrange  way  o'  managin' 
horses. 

An'  as  the  days  went  on,  Culain  asked 
many  a  time  if  they  were  never  goin'  out 
in  the  world  to  win  honour,  an'  always  they 
promised  that  'twould  be  on  the  next  day 
comin'  they'd  be  off;  but  the  day  never 
came  at  all,  for  there  was  always  more 
throwin'  o'  dice,  or  some  one  stoppin'  beside 
the  road  for  gossipin',  or  some  rare  good 
cause  for  puttin'  off  actin'  like  men.  An' 
Culain  was  fair  disthracted  from  bein'  so 
restless — havin'  to  stay  servin'  beggar-men 
when  great  deeds  were  doin'  out  beyant. 
Yet  ever  the  counsel  o'  Bethoc  came  in  his 
mind,  an'  for  the  pride  o'  him  he'd  not  take 
back  the  word  once  given. 

*'  Why  not  be  takin'  things  aisy,  like  us  ? ' 
Taig  would  say.  **'Tis  as  good  as  bein' 
kings,  an'  not  half  the  throuble,  sittin'  here 
an'  lettin'  life  go  on,  without  frettin'  our 
minds  about  what  matthers."  But  Culain 
was  fast  learnin'  different ;  though  ne'er  a 


THE   SERVIN'   O'   CULAIN     167 

word  came  from  him  as  to  his  bein'  a 
prince. 

Now  'twas  nigh  on  the  end  o'  the  twelfth 
month  o'  his  servin',  when  one  passed  bearin' 
news. 

'''Tis  from  the  court  o'  King  Murtagh  I 
come,"  says  he,  "  where  Hves  a  fair  maid, 
daughter  o'  the  king's  brother,  Donal,  that 
was  slain  in  the  great  battle  o'  the  White 
Ford.  Morna,  Love  o'  Sunshine,  they  call 
her.  An'  much  talkin'  o'  gold  an'  silver, 
an'  buy  in'  an'  bargainin'  has  she  heard  in 
the  court  o'  Murtagh  (who  would  make  a 
betther  merchant  nor  leader  in  battle,  by 
that  same  token),  till  from  dislikin'  to  that 
has  she  sworn  to  wed  none  save  him  who 
shall  bring  her  the  gift  which  no  gold  nor 
silver  can  buy.  An'  King  Murtagh  holds 
her  to  that,  sayin'  that  that  man  shall  she 
sure  wed,  be  he  plain  servin'  lad  or  one 
o'  high  degree.  An'  her  a  right  king's 
daughter  !  Ay,  but  'tis  some  thrickery  lies 
under  all,  to  me  mind.  'Twill  be  aisy  sayin' 
*  Take  her,'  but  I'm  thinkin'  that  man  '11  be 


i68      THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

needin'  to  ride  with  drawn  sword,  or  never 
will  he  win  free  from  the  gates." 

**Oho!"  says  Taig,  seein'  the  man  ridin' 
on  his  way  afther  speakin',  **  'tis  to  the  court 
o'  King  Murtagh  we'll  be  goin'.  Maybe 
we'll  get  a  princess  for  wife  to  one  of  us, 
an'  never  need  to  work  more.  An'  for  his 
talk  o'  thrickery,  'twas  but  to  put  us  off  the 
thrack."  An'  Derg  agreed — grinnin'  with 
his  ugly  face. 

So  they  had  Culain  pack  up  what  goods 
there  were,  an'  tie  them  in  a  bundle  to  carry 
on  his  shouldher ;  an'  he  followed  on  foot 
where  they  two  rode  on  the  horse.  An' 
much  he  thought  to  himself,  but  said  naught, 
knowin'  that  one  day  more  would  set  him 
free  o'  them,  an'  eager  to  be  off  an'  doin' 
man's  deeds. 

When  they  rode  into  the  outer  court  o' 
King  Murtagh's  dwellin',  there,  standin'  in 
a  doorway,  was  Princess  Morna ;  an'  Love 
o'  Sunshine  was  she,  for  on  her  sweet  head 
it  shone  like  the  rare  gold.  When  Culain 
set  eyes  on  her,  'twas  as  if  fire  had  leapt 


THE    SERVIN'   O'   CULAIN     169 

into  his  heart,  an'  he  cast  his  burden  far 
from  him,  in  the  hour  o'  his  freedom,  scornin' 
the  touch  of  it.  But  all  around  were  laughin' 
at  the  look  o'  the  beggar-men,  an'  many- 
stout  warriors  gathered  nigh. 

Dread  o'  bein'  forced  to  wed  one  o'  these 
beggar-men  was  in  the  heart  o'  Morna,  but 
she  raised  her  head  bravely,  an'  called  on 
Taig  to  show  his  gift.  So  he  knelt  down 
and  whispered  a  word,  an'  there  on  the  hard 
trodden  earth  o'  the  court  bloomed  many 
gay  flowers. 

**Go  ye  within  an'  wait,"  says  Morna, 
**  while  I  see  yer  companions." 

So  Taig  entered  the  door,  feelin'  sure  o' 
triumphin' ;  an'  one  who  had  a  secret  word 
from  the  princess  brought  him  a  horn  o' 
sthrong  mead. 

**'Tis  no  use  at  all,"  whispered  the  servin* 
man.  "  Betther  nor  that  gift  has  been 
brought  before.  But  I'll  give  a  gold  piece 
to  know  the  word,  for  pleasurin'  me  sweet- 
heart." An'  Taig,  greedy-like,  clutched  the 
gold  an'  told  it.     An'  at  once  he  was  flung 


I70      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

out  at  the  little  back  gate,  among  the  swine- 
herds. 

Next  came  Derg,  leavin'  Culain  holdin' 
his  horse  an'  carryin'  the  sword,  forgettin' 
that  the  time  o'  servin'  was  up.  An  Derg 
whistled — an'  from  the  sky  came  a  hundred 
singin'  birds,  twitterin'  as  in  early  spring- 
time. So  then  Morna,  fearin'  his  looks 
worse  nor  the  other,  sent  him  in  afther. 
An'  when  he  had  dhrunk  mead,  it  went 
with  him  as  with  Taig,  for  he  sold  his 
secret,  thinkin'  that  he'd  no  chance  o' 
winnin'  Morna  whatever — an'  was  pushed 
stumblin'  out  among  the  pigs. 

Last  of  all  Morna  looked  up  an'  saw 
Culain,  standin'  poorly  dressed,  but  proud 
an'  well  to  look  on. 

"  Have  ye  also  a  gift  that  no  gold  can 
buy  ? "  says  she,  half  tremblin',  an'  won- 
dherin'  at  his  differin'  so  from  Taig  an'  Derg. 

'*  Ay,"  says  Culain. 

'*  An'  what  ?  "  says  Morna. 

"'Tis  the  thrue  love  of  a  king's  son,"  says 
he.     Right   quick   he   caught   the  gladness 


THE   SERVIN'   O'   CULAIN     171 

fillin'  her  eyes  ;  an'  never  waitin'  for  askin , 
he  sprung  to  the  saddle,  swung  her  up  before 
him,  an'  headed  for  the  outer  gate. 

"  'Tis  the  beggars'  servant  stealin'  the 
princess ! "  shouted  those  round,  tryin'  to 
catch  the  bridle — but  a  word  to  the  horse 
was  all  that  was  needed.  An'  though  many 
a  stout  fightin'  man  drew  sword  an'  spear 
to  stay  them,  Culain  was  too  swift  an' 
skilled  with  thrust  and  parry — an'  before 
any  thought  to  bar  the  gate,  he  had  cut 
his  path  out  over  warrior  an'  servin'  man, 
an'  was  ridin'  like  the  wind  over  the  moor- 
land an'  through  the  forest.  An'  never  did 
he  draw  rein  till  he  reached  the  castle  o' 
Ciad,  an'  claimed  the  kingdom  due. 

An'  happy  he  lived  all  his  life  with 
Morna,  Love  o'  Sunshine,  each  havin'  that 
gift  which  no  gold  could  buy,  an'  blossomin 
flowers  an'  the  singin'  o'  birds  at  their  will, 
summer  an'  winter. 

[''  An'  that's  how  the  son  o'  Ciad  learned  the 
thrue  worth  o'  bein'  a  right  king."] 


X 

HOW  CORMAC  LOST  HIS  KINGDOM 


% 


X 

HOW  CORMAC  LOST  HIS  KINGDOM 

[**  Another?  An'  one  with  fightin'  in  it? 
Ah — h,  now,  'tis  little  small  girls  should 
take  shame  for  likin'  to  hear  o'  such  mat- 
thers  !  Not  but  what  there  was  a  power 
o'  battlin'  in  those  days  ;  an'  men  strivin' 
to  see  which  was  sthronger,  an'  often 
settin'  crafty  wits  against  stouter  arms 
nor  their  own.  Wait,  now,  while  I  tell 
yees  how  King  Cormac  was  afther  losin' 
his  kingdom."] 

Cormac  o'  Straight  Words  they  called  him, 
for  'twas  never  a  lie  nor  a  thrick  he'd  stand 
from  any  that  came  in  his  way  ;  an'  he'd  never 
shrink  back  from  his  word  once  given. 
'Twas  ruler  of  a  fine  share  o'  the  land  he 
was,   lyin'  well  up  to  the  north   o'  the   Sea 

o'   Moyle.     An'    by  that   raison   his   coasts 

175 


176      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

were  aisy  an'  open  to  the  long  ships  o'  the 
Northmen,  that  came  from  the  islands  over 
an'  toward  the  mainland.  How  an'  ever 
'twas,  though,  there'd  never  been  a  time 
when  he'd  not  beaten  them  off  an'  them 
glad  o'  their  lives  to  get  away. 

A  gran'  sthrong  man  he  was,  an'  ever  in 
the  foremost  where  throuble  was  brewin' ; 
an'  then  'twas  ''look  out!"  for  other  men 
(though  never  was  Cormac  known  to  harm 
one  weaker  nor  himself  by  way  o'  showin' 
his  power). 

An'  three  fine  lads  he  had, — right  sons  o' 
his  house,  barrin'  they  were  not  yet  grown 
to  age  for  handlin'  bow  nor  spear.  But 
well  were  they  afther  showin'  the  marks  o' 
the  race  they  came  of,  that  was  bold  warriors 
clear  back  to  nobody  knows — an'  the  times 
o'  Fin-mac-Cool — not  alone  through  Cormac, 
but  by  way  o'  Muireall,  their  mother,  that 
was  no  more  livin'. 

Now  when  all  had  been  quiet  an'  peace- 
able along  the  coasts  for  a  year  or  two,  an' 
all  in  the  land  was  thrivin',  word  came  in  on 


CORMAC'S    LOST   KINGDOM     177 

the  wind  that  Haco,  the  fiercest  chief  o'  the 
Northmen,  was  gatherin'  a  great  fleet,  filled 
with  armed  fightin'  men,  to  win  Cormac's 
rich  kingdom  an'  hold  it  for  himself.  An' 
great  preparin'  to  meet  him  there  was,  an' 
gatherin'  o'  warriors  from  far  off. 

Sure,  Cormac  made  scant  doubt  o'  dhrivin' 
them  back  like  straws  blowin'  before  the 
tempest ;  yet  for  care  o'  the  chancin'  o'  war 
he  sent  the  three  sons  o'  him,  that  was  wild 
already  to  stay  by  him  through  the  battle, 
far  south  to  a  little  huntin'  lodge  by  the 
Lough  o'  the  Eagle,  where  neither  Dane 
or  man  o'  the  North  Islands  knew  the  road 
to  follow ;  thinkin'  himself  free  to  fight 
sthronger  with  them  out  o'  reach. 

An'  a  great  campin'  place  was  made  on 
the  plain  above  the  sea,  an'  watchers  a  many 
had  piles  o'  wood  laid  for  firin'  on  the  hill- 
tops, to  give  word  o'  the  comin'  o'  the  North- 
men if  'twas  by  night.  Then  Cormac, 
seein'  that  all  was  ready  an'  in  wait,  swore 
a  sthrong  vow  on  his  sword,  an'  sent  word 
o'  that  same  to  Haco,  by  a  sure  messenger. 


178      THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

For  three  days  an'  three  more  came  wind 
from  the  south,  an'  no  word  o'  the  North- 
men. Sure,  'twas  fair  reckless  Cormac  was 
growin',  for  weariness  o'  waitin'  ;  an'  bein' 
unable  to  take  sleepin'  aisy,  there  came  an 
hour  o'  the  night  when  he  wandhered  up 
over  the  downs  an'  into  the  forest,  near  to 
the  Glen  o'  Yew  Trees.  An'  few  men  o' 
those  parts  cared  to  be  neighbour  to  that 
same,  knowin'  it  for  the  home  o'  the  Little 
People,  an'  dreadin'  the  wrath  an'  punishin' 
o'  Cormac,  that  had  made  pact  with  them 
that  no  man  o'  his  should  be  afther  disturbin' 
them  by  day  or  night. 

So  Cormac,  fearin'  naught,  was  walkin' 
slow  under  the  trees,  keepin'  ever  a  ready 
ear  for  any  stirrin',  when  sudden  before 
him  glimmered  a  wee  light,  an'  there  on  the 
brown  pine  needles  strewin'  the  ground 
before  him  stood  the  Little  Green  King, 
noddin'  to  him  in  greetin'. 

"  'Tis  yer  friend  I  am,  Cormac,"  says  he, 
**an'  'tis  wise  ye'll  be  to  heed  the  counsellin' 
I've  in  me  heart  for  ye ;  for  if  ye  scorn  it, 


CORMACS    LOST    KINGDOM     179 

evil  will  come  in  an  hour  that's  on  its  rosfcd 
to  ye,  an'  evil  that  no  power  o'  mine  may 
ward  from  ye." 

*'  Can  we  not  beat  off  all  that  come  by 
strength  of  our  own  arms,  then  ? "  asked 
Cormac,  brave-hearted  whatever  happened. 

**  Ay,  when  the  time  is  ripe,"  says  the 
Little  Green  King.  "  But  evil  is  in  the 
wind  that  is  turnin'  from  south  to  north 
before  its  right  hour — bringin'  the  ships 
o'  Haco  in  the  days  when  fortune  an'  the 
trolls  may  be  afther  favourin'  them.  Sure, 
for  two  days  in  each  year  the  power  o'  the 
Little  People  goes  from  them,  an'  their 
goodwill  profits  naught  to  their  friends  till 
those  hours  be  passed.  Hearken  to  me, 
Cormac,  father  an'  son  o'  kings.  Ye've 
sworn  a  pact  with  me,  that  none  o'  yer 
people  shall  speak  ill  o'  mine,  or  harm  our 
grass  rings  in  the  deep  o'  the  forest,  or  dig 
about  our  mounds  ;  an'  well  have  ye  kept 
that  same." 

"  Ay,"  says  Cormac,   *'  that  have  I  done, 
an'  will  while  life  is  in  me,  for  thrue  friend 


i8o     THE    SONS    O*   CORMAC 

o'  mine  have  ye  been — sendin  harvest 
betther  nor  any  in  lands  far  or  near,  an'  fair 
days  an'  sunshine.  An'  when  'twas  rare 
huntin'  I  was  afther  wantin',  the  deer  an' 
wild  fowl  were  fair  eager  to  run  an'  fly  in 
me  path." 

An'  again  he  gave  his  word,  swearin'  on 
the  crossed  staff  an'  serpent. 

Then  says  the  Little  Green  King :  *'  For 
that  shall  ye  keep  favour  o'  the  Little 
People,  whether  yer  kingdom  last  or  fall 
from  ye.  An'  for  that  do  I  give  ye  wise 
counsel,  that  may  save  all  yet.  Wait  ye 
in  the  forest,  dhrawin'  yer  men  into  hidin' 
in  the  glens  for  but  two  days,  an'  let  the 
Northmen  search  as  they  will,  growin'  care- 
less. In  the  third  day  shall  ye  rise  an' 
dhrive  them  into  the  sea ;  an'  victory  shall 
ye  have,  that  none  callin'  them  kin  shall 
dare  come  afther  for  revengin'." 

"  Nay,"  says  Cormac,  "  that  is  ill  counsel 
to  a  king  an'  a  warrior.  On  the  shore  will 
I  meet  with  Haco,  come  he  by  night  or 
day,  in  fair  sunlight  or  grey  tempest." 


CORMACS    LOST    KINGDOM     i8i 

*"Tis  but  waitin'  for  the  third  day,  an' 
masthery  sure  afther,"  says  the  Little  Green 
King. 

"  'Tis  but  breakin'  me  word  given,"  says 
Cormac.  An'  for  all  the  persuadin'  talk 
o'  the  little  man,  no  other  answer  would 
he  give. 

Then  says  the  little  king,  seein'  that 
naught  would  move  him  whatever:  **  Hear 
me  last  word,  Cormac,  that  may  soon  be 
without  a  kingdom.  Do  no  ill  to  the  ships 
o'  Haco  till  ye  have  him  conquered  by 
land.  While  they  lie  on  the  shore  the 
Danes  will  know  that  there's  a  way  o'  re- 
treatin'  open,  an'  they  may  take  it  an'  fly 
when  Haco  is  never  thinkin'.  But  if  the 
ships  be  burned  an'  broken,  then  will  the 
fury  o'  madmen  an'  the  power  o'  the  trolls 
come  in  their  blood,  an'  none  can  resist  their 
onsettin'.  An'  no  strength  will  I  have  to 
aid  ye  in  that  hour." 

'*'Tis  no  aid  Pm  askin',"  says  Cormac. 

**  Then  on   ye    I    lay   three  geasa','  says 
the  Little  Green  King  (an'  those  same  were 


i82      THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

spells  that  Cormac  couldn't  help  obeyin'). 
*'  First,  that  ye  suffer  no  man  save  free- 
born  warriors  in  yer  camp.  Second,  that 
ye  carry  in  yer  belt  these  three  darts, 
keepin'  them  for  the  hour  when  the  battle 
turns  against  yees.  'Twas  forged  by  Len 
they  were,  an'  under  the  rainbow  were  they 
tempered,  that  no  armour  can  stay  them. 
A  score  o'  men  shall  fall  where  one  flies. 
Use  two  as  need  comes,  but  hold  back  the 
third  for  yer  darkest  hour,  ever  mindin' 
that  'tis  the  last,  an'  none  to  follow  afther. 
An'  the  third  is  this,  Cormac  that  scorns 
aidin',  that  ye  sthrip  the  jerkin  from  the 
first  man  ye  kill,  an'  wear  it  above  yer 
own." 

With  that  word  he  was  gone  from  seein', 
like  the  starlight  glimmer  on  a  knife,  an' 
Cormac,  grippin'  fast  the  three  darts  o'  Len, 
hastened  back  to  his  men,  seein'  far  in  the 
sky  to  the  north  the  light  o'  the  burnin' 
signals.  An'  before  night  was  gone,  he  had 
sent  far  from  his  camp  all  that  were  not 
warriors  born  o'  free  blood. 


CORMACS    LOST    KINGDOM     183 

Now  as  day  came  out  o'  the  dark,  down 
the  north-east  wind  came  rushin'  the  long 
ships  o'  Haco,  with  black  sails  showin' 
far  against  the  white  foamin'  waves,  an' 
shields  glitterin'  along  the  sides  o'  them. 
An'  right  at  the  shore  they  headed,  dhrivin' 
far  up  on  the  sand  with  the  risin'  tide. 

Then,  with  a  great  cryin'  out,  Cormac 
an'  his  men  swept  down  along  the  cliff- 
side,  the  sun  glistenin'  on  their  bronze 
armour  an'  rich  tores  o'  gold,  an'  the  ash 
shafts  whirrin'  ahead  to  let  Haco  know  what 
was  comin'.  Sure,  the  battle-axes  swung 
under  the  blue  o'  the  cold  sky,  an'  there  was 
clashin'  o'  swords  an'  spears,  an'  wild  strugglin' 
for  masthery  up  an'  down  the  sand,  where 
none  heeded  the  splashin'  o'  waves  about 
their  feet,  nor  the  tanglin'  o'  the  salt  grass. 

An'  from  the  first  man  slain  by  Cormac, 
he  sthripped  the  green  coat  that  he  wore, 
never  carin'  for  the  wondherin'  o'  those  nigh, 
but  puttin'  it  on  over  his  armour ;  an'  all 
through  the  fightin'  the  sight  of  it  made  the 
men  o'  Cormac  wild  for  followin'. 


i84      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

As  dark  dhrew  on,  the  Danes  an'  men 
o'  the  islands  were  forced  back  across  the 
bulwarks  o'  their  ships  for  shelter ;  an' 
Cormac,  with  his  warriors  (an'  fresh  they 
were  still,  for  all  the  heat  o'  their  fightin'), 
went  back  to  the  shadow  o'  the  cliffs  an' 
built  fires  for  the  night.  But  Cormac  set 
watchers  to  see  that  no  surprise  came  to 
those  sleepin',  an'  himself  kept  guard,  fore- 
most of  all,  knowin'  Haco  an'  his  men  to 
be  full  o'  cunnin'  not  to  be  thought  light 
of.  Yet  had  he  feelin'  o'  triumphin'  because 
he'd  beaten  them  back  without  aidin'  from 
the  Little  People,  for  all  the  Danes  out- 
numbered his  own  men. 

An'  that  no  plannin'  o'  his  should  go 
strayin',  he  called  aside  Cogoran  an'  Duach, 
that  were  chiefs  under  him,  tellin'  them  the 
words  o'  the  Little  Green  King.  An'  they 
three  shaped  out  together  how  the  battle 
should  be  at  the  hour  o'  dawn,  catchin'  the 
men  o'  Haco  asleep.  An'  while  the  words 
were  still  in  the  air,  there  came  a  rustlin' 
o'  dead  leaves  behind  a  great  oak,  that  had 


CORMAC'S    LOST    KINGDOM     185 

fallen  in  a  winter  storm  long  past.  Quick 
they  sprang  to  see  who'd  been  listening  an 
Cogoran  leaned  over  an'  dragged  out  a  little 
bent  man,  blinkin'  an'  rubbin'  his  eyes  in  the 
glare  o'  the  fire. 

** 'Twas  hearkenin'  he  was,"  says  Duach, 
fierce  an'  angry. 

**Nay,"  whispered  the  little  sthrange  man. 
**'Tis  firom  the  ships  o'  Haco  I  come.  A 
man  o'  these  parts  I  am,  taken  prisoner 
in  an  old  raid,  an'  this  night  I  slipped  off 
the  ship  when  none  saw  me,  an'  here  to 
cry  to  Cormac  for  freein'.  Forbye  bein' 
weary  from  toilin'  at  the  oar,  I  fell  to 
sleepin'  in  the  leaves,  and  heard  naught  till 
this  warrior  gripped  me." 

"Were  ye  born  free  warrior?"  asked 
Cogoran. 

**Ay,    that     I    was,"    says    the    crooked 
one. 

"An'  what  man's  man  were  ye?"  asked 
Cormac. 

"The  man  o'  no  man,"  says  the  other. 
An'  then  Cormac  looked  closer,  an'  knew 


i86      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

him  to  be  one  that  had  come  to  serve  him 
in  early  days ;  the  son  of  a  poor  kerne  he 
was. 

''  Is  not  yer  name  Keir  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Ay,"  says  the  man. 

**  Then  well  I  mind  ye,"  says  Cormac. 
**  No  free-born  warrior  are  ye,  but  a  servin' 
man,  an'  son  o'  Barach,  that  was  bondman 
to  King  Aodh,  me  father.  Here  can  ye 
not  bide,  for  all  save  men  o'  free  blood  will 
bring  ill  fortune  to  the  day  comin'.  Take 
food,  what  ye  will,  an'  go  yer  way  into 
the  forest  till  the  battlin'  be  over."  An' 
Keir,  hatin'  him  for  his  words,  crept  away 
without  more  speakin',  an'  quiet  through 
the  bushes,  an'  down  the  cliff-side  to  where 
the  fightin'  had  been  that  day. 

Now  on  the  ship  o'  Haco  was  anger  an' 
deep  dhrinkin',  an'  great  boastin'  o'  what 
would  be  done  next  day ;  but  Haco  stood 
on  the  deck  forward,  lookin'  at  the  darkenin' 
cliffs,  an'  thinkin'  o'  bein'  king  in  room  o' 
Cormac,  that  had  sthruck  down  more  nor 
a  score  o'  his  men  that  day.     An'  as  it  grew 


CORMACS    LOST    KINGDOM     187 

late,  there  was  a  small  bent  man  crept  up  to 
him,  comin'  out  o'  the  shadows. 

"  What  will  ye  give  if  I  show  ye  the  road 
to  beat  down  Cormac  ?  "  asked  he. 

**  Yer  freedom  an'  land  o'  yer  own,"  says 
Haco,  laughin'  in  his  yellow  beard  at  the 
wizened  face  o'  him. 

''  Then  is  the  payment  mine,"  says  Keir. 
Ah — h,  but  an  evil  snake  o'  the  earth  was 
that  same,  knowin'  his  own  counthry-side  as 
he  did  ;  for  all  the  plannin'  o'  Cormac  an'  the 
counsel  o'  the  Little  Green  King  did  he  tell 
to  Haco,  offerin'  to  guide  him  unbeknownst  to 
a  road  up  the  glens,  an'  bethrayin'  those  o'  his 
own  birthland  into  the  clutches  o'  the  Danes. 

**  An'  'tis  meself  that  has  not  forgot  the 
day  when  Cormac  had  me  whipped  for  mis- 
threatin'  a  servin'  lad !  "  says  Keir.  '*  Now 
'tis  me  hour  for  payin'  him." 

"  Ay/'  says  Haco,  *'  but  first  shall  ye  dress 
as  a  free  warrior  o'  Cormac's  men  ;  fight  or 
be  afther  seemin'  to  fight  in  his  ranks,  that 
ye  bring  him  ill  fortune ;  an'  lead  me  men  to 
the  Glen  o'  Yew  Trees." 


i88      THE    SONS   O'   CORNAC 

An'  Keir,  tremblin'  for  what  might  come, 
dared  say  naught  against  it. 

Then  Haco  fell  to  chucklin'  in  his  beard. 
"  'Tis  plain  what  is  the  wise  road  for  us," 
says  he.  An'  straight  he  went  to  the  men 
commandin'  the  other  ships,  an'  together 
they  laid  plot  to  break  holes  in  the  boards 
o'  the  ships  when  the  fightin'  had  begun ; 
an  to  dhrive  the  men  o'  Cormac  toward  the 
Glen  o'  Yew  Trees,  forcin'  them  to  gain 
the  ill-will  o'  the  Little  People  (barrin'  none 
save  Keir  knew  where  that  glen  lay). 

'Twasn't  half  o'  no  time  before  all  were  on 
foot  again  ;  an'  the  Danes  kept  well  together 
an  pushed  for  the  top  o'  the  cliffs.  But  sure, 
Cormac  was  ready  there  in  the  faint  dawnin 
light,  waitin'  to  give  them  such  welcome  as 
they'd  never  tasted.  An'  while  on  the  day 
before  had  been  shoutin'  an'  wild  calls,  now 
was  scarce  a  sound  beyant  the  sword-sthrokes 
an'  whirr  o'  flyin'  arrows  among  the  oaks. 

Two  times  were  the  men  o'  Cormac  pressed 
back  by  Haco,  an'  both  times  Cormac, 
speedin'  one  o'  the    darts    o'   Len,  sthruck 


CORMACS    LOST    KINGDOM     189 

down  the  fiercest  o'  those  before  him,  whirlin' 
them  apart  Hke  an  eddy  o'  wind  in  a  pile  o' 
dhry  leaves,  an  the  Danes  fell  away  in  turn. 
At  last  Haco,  growin'  impatient,  gave  signal 
to  those  at  the  ships  ;  an'  in  a  flash  o'  time 
a  great  hole  was  stove  in  each  bow,  so  that 
they'd  float  no  more. 

'Twas  growin'  toward  night,  an'  when  the 
Danes  heard  the  crashin'  o'  the  axes  on  the 
wood,  an'  knew  what  had  passed,  they  thought 
it  the  work  o'  the  men  o'  Cormac.  Like 
wild  boars  at  bay  they  turned  an'  flung  them- 
selves against  the  spears  an'  swords  o'  their 
foemen,  without  waitin'  command  from  Haco  ; 
an'  so  close  were  they  all  together,  that  there 
was  no  space  for  dhrawin'  bow. 

An'  now  Keir,  that  had  been  waitin'  his 
time  an'  keepin'  out  o'  danger  behind  the 
warriors  o'  Cormac,  slipped  by  an'  pointed 
out  to  Haco  where  was  the  Glen  o'  Yew 
Trees,  fearin'  goin'  too  nigh  it  himself 
An'  Haco,  dhrawin'  off  a  score  o'  his  best 
warriors,  drove  the  mass  o'  battlin'  men  little 
by  little  toward  it,  pressin'  an'  urgin'  them 


190      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

ever  onward ;  while  others,  comin'  fresh  from 
the  ships,  reached  the  main  body  that  was 
thryin'  to  seize  Cormac,  an'  gave  them  new 
strength. 

All  at  once  it  flashed  on  the  thought  o' 
Cormac  what  was  bein'  done,  an'  he  felt  the 
last  dart  burn  hot  in  his  hand.  Ay,  though 
he'd  been  fightin'  like  a  right  hero  as  he 
was,  he  was  nigh  to  bein'  overpowered, 
while  the  feet  o'  his  strugglin'  men  were 
already  at  the  head  o'  the  forbidden  glen, 
without  any  seein'  where  they  were  goin'. 
Scarce  a  minute  had  he  for  choosin'  between 
his  honour's  sake  an'  his  own  freedom,  but 
his  given  word  was  sthrong  in  his  heart,  an' 
the  dart  flew  whistlin'  far  from  him,  sthrikin' 
in  the  heart  o'  the  battle,  an'  breakin'  down 
great  trees  that  choked  up  the  mouth  o' 
the  glen  so  that  none  could  reach  it.  An' 
under  all  was  Keir,  havin'  received  his 
freedom  an'  the  land  on  which  he  lay,  re- 
wardin'  him  for  bein'  a  thraitor.  Sure,  he 
never  knew  what  had  given  him  his  death- 
blow. 


CORMACS    LOST    KINGDOM     191 

Then  as  the  Danes,  seein'  Cormac  un- 
armed, rushed  on  him  with  a  great  cry  o' 
triumphin',  the  sun  sank  out  o'  sight  behind 
the  mountains  an'  he  was  gone  from  their 
eyes.  An'  where  they'd  been  sthrikin'  at 
a  sthrong  warrior  in  a  jerkin  o'  green, 
sure  they  found  their  darts  an'  axes  buried 
deep  in  an  old  mossgrown  log.  An'  all  that 
night  they  searched  in  vain  for  him,  far  an' 
wide. 

But  Cormac,  never  knowin'  how  it  came, 
opened  his  eyes  as  if  wakin'  from  sleep,  an' 
saw  himself  to  be  lyin'  on  the  shore  o'  the 
Lough  o'  the  Eagle,  with  the  sunrise  touchin' 
the  hilltops  around,  the  warm  wind  bringin 
the  song  o'  birds  in  place  o'  the  battle-cries 
that  had  been  ringin'  in  his  ears,  an'  by  him 
standin'  the  Little  Green  King. 

** Where's  me  kingdom?"  cried  Cormac, 
gettin'  on  his  feet,  half  mazed. 

"Lost  an'  gone  by  the  choice  ye  made," 
says  the  other.  **  Against  yer  given  word  ye 
set  it,  an'  the  word  was  sthronger,  an'  won. 
Cormac  without  a  Kingdom  are  ye,  but  great 


192      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

favour  o'  the  Little  People  shall  be  to  ye  an' 
yer  sons  afther,  to  honour  the  word  of  a 
thrue  man." 

"But  me  good  fightin'  men!"  cried  Cormac. 
**  Naught  was  me  kingdom  to  me  in  worth, 
beside  the  warriors  who  stood  battlin'  for  me 
like  thrue  brothers.  Never  would  I  have 
left  them  to  be  slain  without  me  sharin'  their 
fate." 

"  Aisy  now,"  says  the  Little  King,  laughin' 
at  his  own  thought.  *'  Ne'er  one  is  harmed 
or  left  to  be  slave  to  Haco.  Many  a  day 
may  the  Northmen  search,  but  naught  will 
they  find  save  the  bones  of  a  thraitor.  An' 
though  Haco  hunt  long  an'  weary  days  for 
the  men  o'  Cormac,  far  off  in  counthries 
beyant  pursuin'  are  they  an'  theirs — an'  much 
renown  shall  they  win.  An'  while  Haco  an' 
his  men  hold  the  ground  on  which  they 
tread,  yet  a  waste  shall  it  grow,  with  neither 
harvestin  nor  huntin'  for  their  needs  till  the 
day  when  the  last  Dane  leaves  the  Little 
People  masthers  o'  the  land. 

**  Not  even  meself  could  aid  ye  till  sunset 


CORMACS    LOST    KINGDOM     193 

o'  the  day  o'  the  weakness  o'  me  people  ; 
but  rulers  o'  men  shall  yer  sons  be  in  the 
end,  an'  strength  an'  swiftness  beyant  that 
of  other  men  shall  be  for  ye  an'  for  them 
afther,  while  wearin'  the  green  jerkin  in 
which  ye  fought  for  me — throwin'  the  last 
dart  o'  L6n  without  carin'  for  yer  own 
danger." 

So  King  Cormac — that  was  Cormac  with- 
out a  Kingdom,  through  keepin'  faith  with 
the  Little  People  that  trusted  him,  an 
through  holdin'  fast  to  his  word  given — went 
in  to  his  own  in  the  rough  huntin'  lodge,  an' 
lived  there  content  to  the  end  o'  his  life. 
An'  never  was  a  greater  hunter,  nor  one 
swifter,  nor  a  man  sthronger.  An'  his 
honour — held  fair  at  a  heavy  price — was  a 
word  for  rememberin'  many  a  year  afther, 
even  in  far  lands. 


N 


XI 

WIND  AN'  WAVE  AN'  WANDHERIN' 
FLAME 


XI 

WIND  AN'  WAVE  AN'  WANDHERIN'  FLAME 

[**'Tis  mindin'  somethin'  that  happened  far 
an'  back  o'  the  times  o'  the  Little  People 
I  am.  Sure,  'tis  meself  had  nigh  on 
forgot  it  entirely,  but  when  all's  quiet 
I'll  be  afther  tellin'  it."] 

There  was  always  battlin'  somewhere,  back 
in  those  days  ;  an'  heroes  that  fought  with 
sword  an'  spear — forged  far  up  an'  under  the 
rainbow  by  L6n  the  Smith,  that  was  mighty 
in  all  sorts  o'  wisdom. 

Now  one  time  he  was  beatin'  out  a  great 
shield  o'  gold ;  an'  'twas  wrought  so  cunnin' 
that  who  turned  it  over  an'  laid  it  on  the 
wather  could  step  on  it  an'  sail  where  he 
would.     An'  for  a  device  on  it  he  made  roses 

o'  the  fine  gold,  raised  far  out  from  it,  as 

197 


198      THE    SONS    O'  CORMAC 

they'd  been  growin'  right  there.  Almost 
they  seemed  wavin'  in  the  wind. 

An'  as  he  came  to  sthrikin'  the  last  blows, 
his  hand  slipped,  an'  his  great  hammer  went 
flyin'  downward  through  the  air ;  an'  his  cry 
o*  command  sent  ringin'  afther  it  was  too  late 
to  hindher. 

Now  'twas  about  toward  sunset,  an'  the 
waves  were  beatin'  high  an'  wild  afther 
storm  on  the  west  coast,  that  Artan,  son  o' 
Duallach,  that  was  a  king's  son,  was  huntin' 
along  the  coast.  All  day  he'd  been  tryin'  to 
keep  from  the  company  o'  Myrdu,  his  half- 
brother,  but  only  by  now  had  he  shaken  him 
off;  an'  he  was  runnin'  swiftly,  for  gladness 
o'  bein'  alone  with  the  breeze  an'  the  flyin' 
spray. 

Just  as  the  sinkin'  sun  touched  the  sea, 
he  heard  the  great  cryin'-out  o'  L6n,  out  o' 
the  North,  an'  looked  up  into  the  deep  sky. 
An'  there  he  saw,  whirlin'  down  toward  him, 
somethin'  first  dark  an'  then  bright.  Not  a 
fearin'  thought  was  in  him ;  an'  as  it  came 
nigh  he  sprang  with  hand  stretched  out  an' 


WIND   AN'   WAVE  199 

caught  it — ^just  savin'  it  from  bein'  buried  in 
the  beach  sand. 

The  force  of  its  fallin'  sent  him  to  his 
knees,  but  in  a  breath  he  was  on  his  feet 
again,  lookin'  at  what  he  held.  Sure,  'twas 
nothin'  less  than  a  great  hammer,  glowin'  an' 
darkenin'  by  turns,  as  there  had  been  livin' 
fire  within  it. 

**  What  'n  ever  are  ye,  then  ?"  cried  Artan, 
out  o'  the  surprise,  never  thinkin'  on  gettin' 
an  answer.  Yet  thrue  an'  at  once  came  a 
whisperin'  like  wind  in  pine  forests  far  off — 

''  The  hammer  o'  L6n." 

"An'  how '11  I  get  ye  back  to  him,  not 
knowin'  where  to  find  him?"  asked  Artan. 
**  Sure,  the  winds  must  rise  up  an'  blow  me 
to  the  end  o'  the  rainbow,  where  he  sits,  or 
I'll  never  get  there  at  all." 

The  words  were  scarce  past  his  lips  when 
down  across  the  hills  came  a  warm  gust  o' 
south  wind — the  last  o'  the  storm — an'  caught 
him  up,  still  clingin'  to  the  hammer,  an'  swept 
him  upwards  till  he  could  see  naught  for  mist 
an'  hurryin'  clouds.     Then  came  a  feelin'  o' 


200      THE    SONS    O'   CORMAC 

sinkin',  an'  a  sudden  jar ;  an'  there  he  was 
standin'  on  green  turf,  lookin'  at  white 
mountains,  risin'  higher  nor  aught  he'd  seen, 
an'  between  him  an'  them  shimmered  the 
rainbow  itself,  glowin'  all  colours  in  the  light 
o'  sunset. 

"  Ay,  'tis  aisy  seein'  where  I  am,"  laughed 
Artan,  startin'  toward  it  bravely. 

For  a  while  he  went  on,  an'  at  last  he  came 
nigh  enough  to  see  the  mighty  shape  o'  L^n, 
standin'  waitin'  at  his  forge.  An'  while  night 
was  fast  comin'  on,  an'  the  stars  showin'  out 
in  the  sky  over  all,  yet  the  sun-fire  was  still 
flamin'  up  in  his  smithy,  workin'  his  will  at 
a  word. 

If  fear  had  had  place  in  the  heart  of 
Artan,  then  was  time  for  it,  when  he  saw 
the  deep  eyes  o'  Len,  like  dark  sea- water  in 
caves,  lookin'  far  an'  through  him.  But 
never  had  that  come  to  him,  an'  without 
speakin'  he  raised  the  hammer  toward  the 
sthrong  knotted  hand  that  claimed  it. 

"  Whist,  then  ! "  says  Len,  graspin'  it  quick 
for  fear  the  metal  was  coolin'.    '*  Say  naught 


WIND   AN'   WAVE  201 

till  I'm  done !  "  With  that  he  beat  an'  turned 
the  shield,  an'  gave  the  endin'  touches  to  it. 
Then,  with  another  big  shout,  he  hung  it  on 
the  rainbow,  flashin'  an'  shinin'  till  men  on 
earth  below  saw  it  for  Northern  Lights  in 
the  night  sky. 

"How  came  ye  here  in  me  forge,  Artan, 
son  o'  Duallach  ?  "  he  cried. 

**That  I  know  not,"  spoke  out  Artan. 
"  When  I  held  yon  hammer  in  hand,  an' 
cried  on  the  wind  for  blowin'  me  to  him 
that  owned  it — for  no  other  road  there  was 
for  returnin'  it — the  warm  blast  came  out  o' 
the  south  an'  caught  me  up  here." 

**  Ay,"  laughed  Len,  deep  an'  hearty. 
**  The  winds  are  at  the  will  o'  him  that 
handles  it ;  but  too  great  a  power  is  that  to 
be  given  careless  to  mortal  man.  What  re- 
ward will  ye  have,  now  ?  Whether  gold,  or 
power  above  other  men,  or  the  fairest  o' 
maids  for  yer  wife  ?  " 

Then  the  blood  reddened  the  face  of 
Artan. 

**  Naught  care  I  for  gold,"  says  he.     '*  An 


202      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

power  over  men  should  be  for  him  that 
wins  it  fair." 

**Then  'tis  the  fairest  o'  maids  ye'll  be 
afther  wantin'?"  asked  Len.  **  Have  ye 
seen  such  a  one  ?  " 

"Nay,"  says  Artdn.  **  Dark  are  the  faces 
in  the  house  o'  Duallach,  an'  little  to  me 
likin'." 

**Then  shall  ye  have  one  fair  as  day," 
says  Len.  He  turned  to  where  the  shield 
was  hangin',  an'  from  the  heart  o'  that  same 
he  plucked  a  rose  o'  the  beaten  gold,  an' 
gave  it  to  Artan. 

**Cast  it  in  the  sea  surf  at  sunrise,"  says 
he,  '*callin'  *  Darthuil ! ' — then  shall  ye  have 
yer  reward.  But  one  thing  mind.  Safely 
yer  own  is  she  not  till  first  lost  an'  won 
back.  When  ye  know  not  where  to  seek 
aid  in  searchin',  cry  on  me  name  at  the  sea- 
coast,  an  aid  will  there  be  for  ye  if  ye  come 
not  too  late — wind,  wave,  an'  wandherin' 
flame.  Never  does  L^n  forget.  Hold  fast 
yer  rose." 

As  he  spoke,  again  came  a  gale,  chill  from 


WIND   AN'   WAVE  203 

the  north  this  time,  an'  whirled  Artdn  past 
cloud  an'  above  surgin'  seas,  an'  left  him  on 
the  hilltop  above  the  beach  at  the  last  hour 
before  the  dawnin'. 

Quick  Artan  hastened  down  the  cliff,  still 
graspin  the  golden  rose,  an'  stood  where  the 
little  small  waves  curled  over  the  stones, 
waitin'  for  the  first  gleam  o'  the  sun  to 
touch  the  sea.  Hours  it  seemed  to  him, 
but  minutes  it  was  in  truth,  before  he  caught 
a  long  breath,  raised  the  rose  high  in  air, 
an'  tossed  it  swift  an'  sure  into  the  snowy- 
crest  of  a  green  incomin'  wave. 

**Darthuil!"  he  cried,  an'  the  cliff  echo 
made  a  song  of  it. 

As  the  drops  flew  upward  in  the  red  dawn 
an'  the  breaker  swept  in,  there  by  his  side 
stood  a  maid  with  the  gold  o'  the  rose  in 
her  hair,  an'  the  white  o'  sea-foam  in  her 
fair  skin,  an'  the  colour  o'  the  sunrise  in  lips 
an'  cheek.  Blither  nor  spring,  he  caught 
her  hand  an'  led  her  over  the  hills  to  the 
house  o'  Duallach,  they  two  singin'  for  joy 
o'  livin'  as  they  went. 


204      THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

Now  not  long  had  the  two  been  wed  (an* 
welcome  were  they  under  the  roof  of  Dual- 
lach),  when  Myrdu,  that  was  half-brother  to 
Artan,  but  older  nor  him,  came  back  from 
far  huntin',  ill-pleased  at  missin'  Artan  for 
his  companion,  an'  for  helpin'  him  carry 
the  red  deer  he'd  shot. 

'*'Tis  an  ill  youth,"  says  he,  **an'  will  get 
no  good  from  lyin'  on  the  cliff  edge  an' 
lettin'  the  hunt  go  by." 

**  Nay,"  says  Duallach,  slow  to  anger. 
*'  Fair  fortune  has  he  won,  an'  the  favour 
o'  the  gods  ;  an'  has  brought  home  a  bride, 
fair  as  the  sun  at  noon." 

Then  was  Myrdu  half  ragin'  from  bein' 
jealous  ;  but  not  wishin'  to  show  that  same, 
he  called  for  meat  an'  dhrink  to  be  brought 
him  in  the  great  hall.  An'  Artan,  wishin'  to 
be  friendly  like,  cried  out  for  Darthuil  to 
serve  his  brother.  Sure,  when  Myrdu  saw 
her  comin'  toward  him — shinin'  among  the 
dark  lasses  o'  Duallach's  household  like  a 
star  in  the  night  sky — fury  was  in  his  heart 
for  thinkin'  that  Artin,  bein'  younger  nor 


WIND   AN'   WAVE  205 

him,  had  won  what  he  had  not,  an'  soon  he 
laid  plans  for  stealin'  her  from  his  brother. 

'Twas  not  many  days  before  word  o'  this 
came  to  the  ear  o'  Duallach  ;  an'  he,  hatin 
strife,  bade  Artan  an'  Darthuil  take  horse 
an'  ride  swiftly  southward  to  the  Lough  o' 
the  Lone  Valley,  to  dwell  on  the  little  island 
in  it  till  evil  wishes  had  passed  from  the 
heart  o'  Myrdu.  So  Artin,  mindin'  what  L6n 
had  foretold,  yet  thinkin'  it  wiser  not  to  be 
afther  losin'  Darthuil  at  all,  rode  away  with 
her  on  his  left  hand  when  Myrdu  was  sleepin' 
an'  not  knowin  what  was  bein'  done. 

When  he  roused  an'  found  them  gone, 
an'  that  none  o'  the  house  would  say  whither, 
he  was  in  a  fine  passion  ;  but  he  made  as 
if  he  was  afther  goin'  huntin',  an'  took  his 
two  fierce  hounds  an'  went  off  to  trace  the 
road  they'd  taken.  An'  sure  enough,  'twas 
not  many  hours  before  he  was  on  their 
path. 

Now  safer  would  it  have  been  had  Artan 
told  Darthuil  the  full  raison  why  he  was 
takin'  her  far  into  the  shelter  o'  forest  an' 


2o6      THE    SONS    O'   CORMAC 

lough  o'  the  wildherness  ;  but  she,  trustin' 
him,  asked  naught,  thinkin'  no  evil  o'  livin' 
man.  So  scarce  had  Artan  left  her  in  the 
low  cabin  on  the  island  an'  gone  off  to  hunt, 
than  Myrdu  pushed  through  the  bushes, 
leavin'  the  hounds  on  the  shore  behind,  an' 
floated  himself  out  to  the  island  on  a  couple 
o'  logs  lashed  with  a  thong  o'  deer-skin.  Ay, 
but  Darthuil  was  startled,  not  dhreamin'  why 
he'd  come. 

*'  'Tis  Artan  is  hurt,  an'  afther  sendin'  me 
for  ye,"  says  Myrdu,  lookin'  down  unaisy  like, 
from  not  wishin'  to  meet  the  rare  clear  eyes  o' 
her.     ^'  Come,  an'  I'll  take  ye  where  he  lies." 

Not  waitin'  a  moment  was  Darthuil,  then, 
but  hurried  doin'  as  she  was  bid,  never 
thinkin'  what  evil  might  be  in  store. 

Afther  a  few  hours  Artan  came  back 
through  the  trees,  an'  game  a  plenty  he'd 
found.  He  pulled  out  his  boat  o'  skins,  an' 
quick  paddled  back  to  the  island.  But  there 
he  found  no  Darthuil ;  no,  nor  any  sign  o' 
her  save  the  little  print  o'  her  sandal  by 
the  wather's  edge. 


WIND   AN'   WAVE  207 

Then  came  to  his  mind  the  promise  o' 
L6n.  Never  darin'  to  waste  an  hour  searchin 
by  himself,  he  ferried  his  horse  across  to  the 
mainland,  mounted,  an  pushed  for  the  sea. 
Never  once  did  he  stop  for  restin'  till  he  was 
standin'  where  the  waves  beat  over  him, 
where  he  had  cried  on  Darthuil,  an'  she  had 
come  to  him. 

''  Len  !  "  he  called.  **  Yer  aidin,  L6n  ! 
Darthuil  is  stolen  from  me." 

There  came  a  rumblin'  o'  thunder,  an' 
on  the  shore  stood  a  great  figure,  like  a 
pillar  o'  cloud  reachin'  half  to  the  sky. 

**  Never  safe  yer  own  till  lost  an'  found, 
I  said,"  came  the  deep  voice.  **  Now  I  give 
ye  wild  servants,  a  wind  an'  a  wave  an'  a 
wandherin'  flame  for  helpin'  ye  to  bring  her 
safe  again.  Mind  well  that  each  will  obey 
ye  but  once,  so  call  on  them  only  when  yer 
sharpest  need  comes.  When  ye've  again 
set  the  feet  o'  Darthuil  safe  in  the  hall  o' 
Duallach,  none  can  take  her  from  ye  more. 
Now  follow  yer  love.  'Tis  to  the  Northland 
has  Myrdu  carried  her.     Let  him  not  pass 


2o8      THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

the  White  Rocks,  or  wind  an'  wave  an' 
flame  will  lose  power  to  aid  ye.  Use  yer 
wit,  now,  an'  use  it  well." 

Artan  would  have  spoken  to  thank  him, 
but  with  the  last  word  Len  was  no  more 
there ;  so  he  mounted  again  an'  turned  to 
the  north ;  an'  behind  him  came  the  wind, 
whisperin'  over  the  grass ;  an  the  wave, 
runnin'  up  the  sthream  near  at  hand ;  an' 
the  flame,  creepin'  among  dhry  leaves,  but 
settin'  fire  to  naught  else,  its  time  not  bein' 
come. 

Together  they  all  thravelled  the  betther 
part  of  a  long  day,  an'  late  on  Artan  saw 
dust  risin'  ahead.  'Twas  a  cloud  that  Myrdu 
had  raised  to  hide  the  way  he  was  goin',  an' 
beyond  it  he  was  ridin',  carryin'  Darthuil 
before  him  on  his  saddle  o'  skins,  with  the 
two  hounds  lopin'  along  beside  to  fright  her 
from  tryin'  to  escape,  an'  to  give  warnin'  of 
any  followin' ;  while  not  many  miles  ahead 
were  the  White  Rocks,  that  he  was  pushin' 
to  reach. 

On    hurried    Artan,    but    his   horse   was 


WIND   AN'   WAVE  209 

wearied,  an'  little  head  could  he  make. 
Moreover,  the  cloud  o'  dust  left  him  uncer- 
tain o'  what  was  hid.  So  he  thought  well, 
an'  chose  wind  to  serve  him  first. 

**  Go  on,  an'  blow  the  dust  far  away, 
whisperin'  courage  to  Darthuil  the  while," 
says  he.  An'  at  once  the  wind  sped  far 
ahead,  obeyin'  his  command.  When  the 
two  dogs  felt  it  touch  them,  they  cowered 
low;  but  Darthuil  took  heart,  knowin'  that 
help  was  at  hand.  An'  the  dust  was  no  more 
hidin'  her  from  Artan,  so  she  waved  her  hand 
an'  called  aloud  to  him  to  ride  in  haste. 

Then  Myrdu,  fearin'  that  he  might  yet 
lose  her,  threw  a  handful  o'  twigs  behind 
him  in  the  road  ;  an'  fall  in'  they  turned  into 
dead  trees,  stoppin'  the  way  on  all  sides. 
But  Art^n  well  knew  the  way  to  clear  his 
path. 

"  Go  forward ! "  he  cried  to  the  wandherin' 
flame,  "  an'  leave  not  a  trace  o'  them  !  "  As 
he  spoke,  the  flame  swept  up  high  in  air, 
roarin'  an'  smokin' ;  an'  in  half  an  instant 
naught  remained  o'  the  logs  but  a  pile  o' 


2IO      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

smouldherin'  ashes.  But  still  was  Myrdu 
fast  nearin'  his  goal,  an'  had  one  thing  more 
for  helpin'. 

He  dropped  a  little  sharp  knife  in  the 
roadway ;  an'  as  it  fell,  it  cut  into  the  dust, 
an'  there  opened  a  wide,  terrible  chasm,  not 
to  be  crossed  by  horse  nor  man.  Then 
Artan  grew  clear  desperate. 

"Wave!"  he  shouted,  ''bring  Darthuil 
to  me!" 

Up  then  it  rose,  rollin'  forward  like  flood- 
tide  in  spring ;  an'  it  filled  the  gulf,  an'  swept 
away  dogs  an'  horse  an'  Myrdu  himself,  that 
none  were  heard  of  from  that  on  ;  but  Dar- 
thuil it  floated  gentle  like,  as  she  had  been 
a  tuft  o'  thistle-down,  back  to  Artan,  waitin' 
for  her. 

He  caught  her  an'  clasped  her  close,  an' 
turned  his  horse,  an'  never  halted  till  he  led 
her  safe  into  the  hall  o'  Duallach,  where  none 
might  steal  her  from  him  again.  An'  there 
they  lived  happy  all  their  lives. 

But  as  for  the  wind  an'  the  wave  an'  the 
wandherin'    flame,    so    sweet    an'    fair    was 


WIND   AN'   WAVE  211 

Darthuil  that  ne'er  would  they  go  from  her 
to  return  to  L^n.  To  the  last  o'  her  life 
the  wind  blew  soft  for  her  when  'twas 
overly  hot  elsewhere,  an'  clear  cool  wather 
flowed  up  from  the  ground  to  save  her 
dhrawin'  any  from  the  river,  an'  fire  burned 
bright  on  her  hearth  without  need  o' 
plenishin' ;  an'  all  that  for  the  love  o'  Dar- 
thuil, that  was  made  by  L6n  out  o'  the  foam 
tossed  by  the  wind  from  the  sea-wave,  an' 
the  wandherin'  flame  o'  the  sunrise. 


XII 

THE  KING  O'  THE  THREE  WINDS 


XII 

THE  KING  O'  THE  THREE  WINDS 

['*  So  yees  liked  hearin'  o'  L^n  ?  Sure  'twas 
a  mighty  smith  he  was,  up  under  the 
rainbow,  an'  masther  o'  craft  beyant 
all  mortal  men ;  an'  not  mindin'  a  bit 
o'  jestin',  either,  when  time  served. 
I  mind  hearin'  once — whist,  now,  an' 
I'll  tell  yees  that  one  tale  more,  about 
him,  an'  that'll  be  the  last."] 

There  was  one  day  when  mighty  battlin* 
was  goin'  on,  far  to  the  west.  An'  L6n, 
wearyin'  o'  the  sun-forge  an'  the  bright 
curvin'  o'  the  rainbow,  leaned  on  the  north 
wind  to  look  down  at  the  heroes  strivin'  for 
masthery  on  the  sea-coast,  with  the  waves 
beatin'  in  high  on  the  rocks.  An'  more  nor 
one  carried  spear  or  shield  o'  L^n's  forgin', 
an'  the  sun  shinin'  on  the  swing  o'  swords 


2i6      THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

was  like  sparks  fly  in'  from  his  furnace.     An 
what  had  come  to  pass  aforetime  happened 
again,  for  sure,  a  second  time  his  hammer 
slipped  from   his   graspin'  an'   fell   through 
the  clouds. 

But  'tis  truth  I'm  tellin'  yees  that  'twas 
many  an  hour  before  he  knew  that  same. 
Little  meanin'  had  time  an'  the  passin'  o' 
time  to  Len.  The  wild  fight  was  still  ragin' 
on,  an'  naught  cared  he  for  work  other  than 
seein'  it.  So  not  till  truce  was  cried  was 
he  afther  lookin'  round  for  his  own ;  an' 
then  no  matther  where  he  looked  he  could 
see  no  trace  o'  that  same  far  off  nor  close  by 
him.  An'  dark  an'  cloud  had  blown  across 
the  sea,  coverin'  day  with  night.  So  back 
went  L6n  to  his  forge,  an'  sat  down  for 
thinkin'  —  seein'  as  how  he  couldn't  be 
workin* — an'  the  north  wind  rumbled  in  his 
chimney. 

Many  a  day  passed  in  that  thinkin',  an'  all 
that  time  the  north  wind  blew  cowld  across 
the  land  from  the  ould  Sea,  so  that  men  were 
feared   o'    winter   comin'    before    harvestin'. 


KING  O'  THE  THREE  WINDS    217 

At  last  L6n  roused  to  be  doln',  an'  with  a 
mighty  laugh  that  shook  the  tops  o'  the 
cloud  mountains,  he  strode  off  down  the 
bridge  o'  fog  shadows  to  seek  for  his 
hammer ;  with  the  north  wind  at  his  heel, 
quiet,  an'  scarce  darin'  to  scatther  the  wet 
mists  out  o'  the  path. 

Now  'twas  comin'  to  be  the  end  o'  har- 
vestin'  on  the  lands  o'  Mahon,  chieftain  o' 
the  men  o'  Rosnaree.  An'  in  the  hall  o'  the 
wide  earthen  dun  sat  Mahon  an'  the  older 
men,  tellin'  tales  o'  heroes,  with  tall  flagons 
o'  foamin'  mead  before  them ;  but  on  the 
grass  by  the  little  river  the  young  men  an' 
boys  were  playin'  at  ball,  an'  castin'  spears 
at  a  mark ;  an'  headin'  them  all  was  Rodan, 
sister's  son  to  Mahon,  dressed  fine  in  rich 
cloth  o'  green  laced  with  gold.  An'  never 
a  one  o'  them  could  match  him  at  the  games. 

Now  while  they  were  runnin'  back  an' 
along  the  river  bank,  one  lad  that  hap- 
pened to  be  afther  lookin'  over  his  shouldher 
began  laughin'  an'  laughin'.  An'  says 
Rodan,  laughin'  too — 


2i8      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

*'What  for  are  ye  makin'  me  spoil  me 
aim  ?  " 

**'Tis  for  the  ould  beggar  man,"  says  the 
lad.  **See  him  comin',  now,  an'  draggin' 
an  empty  chain  as  if  'twas  his  dog  he  was 
leadin'.  An'  sure,  'tis  speakin'  to  it  he  is, 
tellin'  it  to  be  quiet." 

With  that,  all  save  Rodan  started  laughin' 
at  the  ould,  crooked  beggar  man  that  was 
comin'  down  by  the  wather  side,  all  in  a 
ragged  cloak,  carryin'  a  bit  of  a  rusty  chain, 
an'  in  his  belt  more  pieces  o'  that  same. 

As  he  came  nigher,  a  cowld  north  wind 
fluttherin'  the  tatthered  cloak  he  wore,  an' 
flingin'  it  back  that  any  might  see  the  bare 
knotted  arms  an'  sthrong  hands  of  him,  he 
turned  aside  an'  threw  the  chain  round  a 
bit  of  a  saplin'  that  grew  near,  an'  at  once 
the  wind  fell.  Then  he  looked  round  at 
the  lads. 

**  Is  it  for  sake  o'  me  rags  that  ye're 
jeerin'  at  an  ould  man  ? "  says  he. 

**Nay,"  says  Rodan,  lookin'  wrath  at  his 
fellows.      "  'Tis   at   yer    empty   chain   they 


KING  O'  THE  THREE  WINDS     219 

were  laughin',  as  boys  will.  None  o' 
the  house  o'  Mahon  will  ye  find  showin' 
scorn  to  age  or  to  one  in  need.  An'  a 
night's  lodgin'  an'  a  piece  o'  silver  Mahon 
gives  to  any  that  come,  an'  none  may 
question  whither  he  goes  afther." 

**  A  rare  jewel  have  I  lost,"  says  the  ould 
bent  beggar,  lookin'  sharp  at  Rodan  under 
his  shaggy  brows,  ''an'  near  an  far  have  I 
been  seekin    it." 

''Then  come  with  me  to  Mahon  an' the 
wiser  men,  an'  it  may  be  they'll  have  heard 
somewhat  of  it,  an'  be  afther  guidin'  ye  to 
find  that  same,"  says  Rodan,  gentle  like ; 
an'  takin'  the  arm  o'  the  sthranger,  to  be 
helpin'  him  a  bit,  he  led  him  in  at  the 
door. 

Nov/  Mahon,  lookin'  up,  saw  the  two 
comin' ;  an'  risin'  to  meet  one  older  an' 
seemin'  feebler  nor  himself,  he  caught  a 
glint  o'  the  deep  eyes  under  the  heavy 
brows,  an'  knew  well  from  years  past  who 
was  in  his  hall  as  guest.  But  never  a  word 
he  spoke  showin'  it,  for  betther  he  thought 


220      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

it  to  wait  on  the  will  o'  one  mightier  nor 
him. 

**  'Tis  kindly  welcome  ye  are,"  says  he, 
dhrawin'  forward  the  bench  for  him  to  be 
seated.  An'  Rodan  brought  food  an'  spread 
it  on  the  board  before  the  wayfarin  man, 
an'  his  own  golden  cup  filled  brimmin'  with 


wme 


Tis  a  sthranger,  weary  with  farin'  far 
to  seek  a  lost  jewel,"  spoke  Rodan,  ''an' 
needin'  rest  an'  aidin'." 

'*  An'  what  for  a  threasure  was  that  same  ? " 
asked  one  o'  Mahon's  men,  that  sat  nigh. 
**  Maybe  one  among  us  may  have  heard 
talk  of  it,  an'  can  give  ye  word  where  to 
find  it." 

For  a  time  the  ould  man  made  no  answer ; 
but  afther  eatin'  a  while  (an'  'twas  the 
amazin'  hunger  he  seemed  to  be  havin'),  he 
leaned  his  arm  on  the  rough  oaken  table 
an'  looked  at  Mahon,  that  had  been  silent, 
thinkin'  o'  many  wonderful  things. 

"What  for  a  wind  had  ye  yestermorn?" 
says  he. 


KING  (y  THE  THREE  WINDS     221 

Then  Mahon,  showin  respect  as  to  a 
famed  warrior,  answered — 

"  For  three  hours  afther  sunrise  it  blew 
from  the  east.  Then  for  three  more  from 
the  west.  Then  came  a  sthrong  gale  from 
the  south.  An'  like  that  same  has  it  been 
for  ten  days  an'  ten  more." 

*'  An'  has  no  wind  come  from  the  north  ?  " 
asked  the  ould  man. 

**  Not  in  all  that  time,"  says  Mahon.  **  Be- 
fore those  days  was  naught  but  stormin 
from  the  north  for  long  weeks." 

Then  Rodan  spoke  eagerly.  "Ay,  but 
in  this  very  hour  came  wind  from  the  north, 
blowin'  our  spears  past  their  mark."  An* 
as  the  words  came  from  him,  a  deep  growlin' 
was  heard  without  the  dun,  an'  a  sweep  o' 
wind  that  stirred  the  thatch  above  their 
heads.  Rodan  looked  up  wondherin',  but 
the  ould  man  chuckled. 

*'  'Tis  me  dog,  restless  from  bein'  tied  in 
one  place,"  says  he ;  an'  then  low,  that  none 
but  Mahon  heard:  **me  dog,  the  north 
wind.     'Tis  for  his  fellows  I  seek,  servants 


222      THE   SONS    O'   CORMAC 

o'  the  hammer  that  slipped  from  me  grasp 
while  I  leaned  watchin'  the  war  o'  the 
western  heroes.  An'  he  would  have  gone 
too  had  I  not  been  houldin'  him." 

**Ay?"  says  Mahon.  **Then  hear  what 
word  o'  them  I  have  for  ye,  good  masther 
o'  wisdom  an'  lord  o'  power,  rememberin' 
well  yer  aid  given  free  in  me  hour  o'  need 
in  a  year  long  past.  Yester  morn  rode  up 
the  river  bank  a  man  in  rich  armour,  an' 
afther  him  many  a  sthrong  fightin'  man. 
An'  last  o'  them,  on  a  lame  pony,  a  sour- 
faced  dwarf.  An'  when  Rodan  here  ques- 
tioned o'  them  who  they  were,  none  would 
give  civil  word  save  the  dwarf,  that  cried 
out :  *  'Tis  me  lord  the  King  o'  the  Three 
Winds,  returnin'  from  victory.  An'  'tis  an 
ill  fate  comes  to  any  that  hindher  him.'  An' 
no  more  word  would  he  speak,  but  rode 
away  past  on  his  limpin'  nag.  Sure,  never 
was  such  a  king  known  of  any  in  these 
parts." 

The  ould  beggar  nodded,  as  bein'  well 
pleased,  an'  rose.     An'  so  tall  was  he  that 


KING  O'  THE  THREE  WINDS    223 

he'd  need  to  be  stoopin'  to  pass  the  lintel 
o'  the  door. 

''  What  lad  is  this  same  that  led  me  to  ye, 
Mahon  o'  Rosnaree  ?  "  says  he,  his  voice  as 
deep  as  a  wave  in  the  heart  o'  the  Ould  Sea. 

*'  Rodan,  sister's  son  to  me,"  says  Mahon, 
"an'  the  very  core  o'  me  heart,  seein'  that 
no  sons  o'  me  own  house  have  I,  to  give 
aidin'  in  battle  when  me  right  arm  fails 
me  with  age." 

"An'  has  he  won  honour  to  his  name?" 
says  the  ould  man. 

"  Not  yet,"  answered  Mahon,  lookin'  lovin' 
at  the  lad,  an'  seein'  the  hot  blood  risin'  in 
his  cheeks  from  hearin'  the  two  discussin' 
him.  "  Time  an'  plenty  for  that,"  says 
Mahon. 

"  Then  give  him  leave  to  go  with  me  on 
me  questin',"  says  the  ould  man.  **  Rare 
fame  shall  he  win,  an'  a  warrior  shall  he  be, 
fit  to  match  with  heroes." 

An'  while  Rodan  sprang  first  to  his  feet  in 
wrath  at  any  thinkin'  him  one  to  go  trudgin' 
in  the  dust  by  a  ragged  beggar  man,  yet  he'd 


224      THE    SONS    O'   CORMAC 

no  more  nor  met  the  eyes  o'  the  sthranger 
than  all  anger  left  him,  an'  'twas  to  the  end 
o'  the  world  he'd  have  gone  willin'  with  that 
same. 

**Ay,"  says  Mahon.  '''Tis  meself  is  well 
content  to  have  him  serve  ye.  This  many  a 
day  has  he  been  wearyin'  to  go  out  seekin 
fortune." 

With  never  another  word  the  sthranger 
bent  an'  passed  the  door,  an'  Rodan  afther 
him,  never  heedin'  the  wondher  o'  the  lads 
round  about.  An'  mazed  were  all  when 
they  saw  the  ould  man  givin'  him  the  chains 
from  his  belt  to  carry,  himself  unwindin'  the 
one  from  the  saplin'. 

**  Which  road  went  the  King  o'  the  Three 
Winds  ?  "  says  the  beggar. 

*'  Toward  the  Ford  of  Echoes,  I  heard 
one  cry  out,"  says  Rodan. 

So  on  by  day  an'  night,  never  restin'  for 
aught  but  the  askin*  some  passer-by  as  to 
the  man  they  were  huntin',  they  went  through 
the  wood  an'  over  hill  an'  rock,  till  they 
reached  the  Ford  of  Echoes.     An'  there,  on 


KING  O'  THE  THREE  WINDS     225 

the  hillside  before  them,  rose  a  great  high 
castle,  with  grey  towers  an'  wide  walls.  An' 
waverin  it  seemed,  once  an'  again,  like  a 
thing  in  a  dhream.  Sure,  the  ould  man  sat 
down  laughin'. 

**'Tis  his  gran'  dwellin'  we've  been  afther 
discoverin',  Rodan,"  says  he.  "Will  ye 
batther  it  down  with  yer  hands,  or  shall  I 
set  me  dog  to  the  work  ? " 

**  An'  afther  'tis  done  will  yer  threasure  lie 
open  to  ye  ? "  says  the  lad. 

**  That's  for  thinkin'  about,"  says  the  other, 
well  pleased.  **  'Tis  a  wise  word  ye  spoke, 
not  knowin'.  Scant  use  to  break  down  his 
walls  before  findin'  where  he's  me  jewel  hid. 
Whist,  now,  for  one's  comin'  down  the  hill- 
side." 

While  they  stood  watchin*,  a  dead  branch 

cracked,  an'  to  the  ford,  to  dhraw  wather, 

came  a  straight,  slender  girleen,  an'  on  her 

shouldher  was  an  earthen  jar.     When  she 

saw  the  two  beyant  the  runnin'  sthream  she 

shook  her  head. 

"'Tis  an  ill  land  this  for  any  poor  men 

p 


226      THE    SONS   O'    CORMAC 

farin'  alone.  Betther  that  ye  hasten  on, 
stayin'  for  naught,  till  ye  pass  the  power  o' 
Curigh  Mor." 

"An  who  may  be  Curigh  Mor,  that  men 
journey  in'  in  peace  should  fear  him  ?  "  asked 
Rodan,  seein'  how  fair  was  the  curlin'  black 
hair  o'  the  maid,  an'  the  little  white  feet  in 
the  grass. 

*'  King  o'  the  Three  Winds  is  he,  an'  has 
been  for  a  score  o'  days  an'  more,"  says  she. 
**  A  poor  kerne  was  he  born,  an'  thrall  in  me 
father's  house.  One  day  'twas  himself  came 
in  with  somethin'  shinin'  under  his  cloak  ; 
an'  when  me  father  asked  what  was  that 
same,  he  spoke  scorn  o'  his  masthery,  an 
sthruck  him  down.  An'  from  that  hour 
power  over  three  winds  has  he  gained — 
east  an'  west  an'  south,  to  work  his  will. 
An'  for  that  I  would  say  naught  to  him,  the 
walls  o'  me  father's  dwellin'  lie  scatthered 
an'  blown  far  down  the  mountain  side ;  an' 
meself  must  dhraw  the  wather  an'  be  servin' 
maid  to  them  that  serve  him  ;  an'  all  for 
scornin'  him.     Three  times  have  I  fled  far 


KING  O^  THE  THREE  WINDS     227 

down  the  river  bank,  an'  each  time  has  one 
o'  the  winds  caught  me  an  blown  me  back 
to  his  castle  gate.  An'  'tis  small  hope  o' 
help  from  any  livin'  man  I  have,  for  none 
can  withstand  the  winds  out  o'  the  sky." 

"  An'  whose  child  may  ye  be,  that  has 
been  so  mistreated  ? "  says  the  ould  man. 
"  Maybe  we'll  be  afther  findin'  some  way 
to  aid  ye." 

"  Eimer  is  me  name,  daughter  o'  him 
that  was  Duach  o'  the  Ford,"  says  she, 
bendin'  to  fill  her  jar  with  clear  wather. 
**  An'  a  good  warrior  was  that  same,  that 
sthruck  no  man  from  behind,  even  when 
it  was  his  own  slave  rebellin'." 

**  Then  shall  yer  wrong  be  righted,"  says 
the  ould  man.  "  Choose  for  yerself  whether 
by  me  dog  or  me  man,  here." 

Eimer  looked  at  him,  doubtin',  an'  her 
eyes  grew  dark  with  anger.  **  'Tis  mockin' 
me  ye  are,"  says  she.  **  I  see  no  dog  fol- 
lowin  ye ;  an'  what  can  a  lad  like  yon 
do  against  the  King  o'  the  Three  Winds. 
If  he  have   the  power  in  his  arm  to  slay 


228      THE    SONS   O^   CORMAC 

even  the  meanest  kerne  that  slinks  by  the 
gates  o'  Curigh  Mor,  'tis  debtor  to  him 
I'll  be  ;  but  sthrong  men  are  they  that  ride 
in  his  train." 

''  What  shall  be  done  shall  ye  see,"  says 
the  ould  man,  flashin'  fire  like  the  sun  on 
steel  from  the  deep  eyes  o'  him.  "  Now 
lead  us  to  Curigh  Mor,  an'  leave  yer  fearin' 
for  us." 

Wide  were  the  eyes  of  Eimer  to  see 
the  wather  o'  the  ford  dhraw  back  to  let 
the  two  pass  dhry  shod.  Thremblin'  came 
on  her,  an'  silent  she  led  the  two  up  the 
path  to  the  castle.  Yet  at  the  gate  she 
waited  a  bit,  lookin'  from  the  bent  ould 
beggar  man,  worn  and  slow  steppin',  to  the 
bright  youth,  richly  clad,  that  followed  him 
as  a  man  his  masther. 

**  Betther  that  ye  come  no  farther,  riskin' 
yer  lives  for  a  servin'  maid,"  says  she.  *' A 
rough  man  is  Curigh  Mor." 

"Then  rougher  shall  he  find  us,"  says 
the  ould  man.  **  Go  you  an'  tell  him  that 
two  sthrangers  crave  shelter  for  the  night." 


KING  O'  THE  THREE  WINDS     229 

'Twas  before  the  main  gateway  they  were 
now,  an'  as  Eimer  slipped  in  away  from 
them,  it  seemed  to  Rodan  as  a  swirl  o'  mist 
had  wrapped  her  from  sight. 

"  An'  what  for  an'  whatever  a  castle  may 
this  be  ? "  he  asked,  wondherin'  not  a  little 
at  the  quare  silence  all  round,  for  never 
a  bird  sang  in  any  tree,  nor  child  played 
on  the  meadow  beyant,  nor  chatter  o'  maids 
an'  men  came  from  the  courtyards  or  arch- 
ways. Only  a  dull  rushin'  sound  o'  storm 
far  underground  was  round  them. 

"  The  place  o'  one  not  to  be  trusted 
with  power  above  that  o'  men  that  were 
his  masthers  afore,"  says  the  ould  man,  gruff 
an'  short. 

"  An'  have  we  strength  to  cast  him 
from  it?"  cried  Rodan,  his  face  flushin' 
with  eagerness,  an'  his  heart  hot  with  rage 
at  Curigh  Mor  for  layin'  heavy  hand  on  a 
tender  lass  with  none  to  guard  her. 

**  Ay,  that  may  ye  do  alone.  Hearken 
to  me,  Rodan.  A  lad  are  ye  yet,  but  power 
shall  be  given  ye  if  yer  heart  fail  ye  not. 


230      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

That  which  I  lost  has  Curigh  Mor  found 
an'  turned  to  evil  uses.  One  chance  will 
I  give  him  to  mend  his  ways,  an'  if  he 
refuse  me  that  which  is  me  own,  then  do 
ye  stand  forth  me  champion  an'  offer  battle 
to  all  who  come,  beginnin'  with  a  man  o' 
yer  own  years.  An'  the  power  of  each  man 
ye  overcome  shall  be  added  to  yer  own, 
an'  a  mighty  champion  shall  ye  be  held 
afther.  But  mind  this  through  the  battlin'. 
All  in  all  is  it  to  ye  that  ye  let  no  fear 
come  nigh  yer  heart,  even  though  a  giant 
were  challengin'." 

An'  Rodan  nodded,  gay  an'  blithe  at 
the  words  o'  the  beggar  man.  Afther  a 
minute  more,  the  gate  opened,  an'  a  great 
slouchin'  fellow  put  out  his  head. 

**What  seek  ye,  beggars,  at  the  door  o' 
Curigh  Mor,  the  mighty  King  o'  Three 
Winds  that  work  his  will  night  an'  day  ? " 
says  he. 

**'Tis  a  smith  I  am,"  says  the  ould  man, 
"an  by  ill  fortune  I  was  afther  losin'  me 
hammer.      'Tis  seekin'  it  through  all  lands 


KING  O'  THE  THREE  WINDS  231 
I  am,  for  its  mate  has  never  been  seen  far 
nor  wide.  'Tis  askin'  I'd  be  whether  Curigh 
Mor  has  found  it." 

"Come  in,"  says  the  gatekeeper.  So  in 
they  went,  an'  before  them  was  the  wide 
courtyard.  At  the  farther  side  stood  a 
knot  o'  men,  an'  to  them  the  gatekeeper 
pointed. 

"  Go  to  them,"  says  he.  **  There  stands 
Curigh  Mor,  with  the  sthrongest  champions 
o'  his  court.  But  'tis  riskin'  yer  ould  skin 
an'  bones  ye  are.  Betther  for  ye  to  go 
sound  an'  safe,  if  wantin'  yer  hammer,  than 
to  cross  the  King  o'  the  Three  Winds." 

But  the  ould  smith  shook  off  the  hand 
o'  the  one  that  would  have  warned  him 
back,  an'  beckoned  Rodan,  an'  together 
they  passed  across  the  open  space. 

Those  standin'  nigh  to  Curigh  Mor 
laughed  at  seeing  the  ould  bent  gaffer 
hobblin'  along,  an'  a  bright  young  lad, 
that  was  yet  scarce  come  to  man's  years, 
comin'  afther  with  his  arm  filled  with  rusty 
chains.     But   a   chill   went    over   the  heart 


232      THE   SONS   O'   CORMAC 

o'  Curigh  Mor,  an'  he  drew  his  rich  cloak 
closer  round  him. 

*'  What  seek  ye,  beardin'  the  King  o'  the 
Three  Winds  ?  "  says  he. 

**The  help  o'  Curigh  Mor  to  give  me 
back  that  which  is  me  own,"  says  the  ould 
smith. 

**  An'  what  may  that  be  ?  "  asked  Curigh 
Mor,  scowlin'  fierce  an'  angered  like. 

**  Me  hammer,"  says  the  ould  beggar. 
"  'Twas  restin'  a  bit  from  me  forgin'  on  a 
suit  of  armour  I  was,  an'  let  it  slip  from 
me  hand ;  an'  when  I  would  have  gone  back 
to  me  work,  'twas  gone  ;  an'  ever  since  have 
I  been  searchin'  vainly  for  it.  A  gift 
from  a  mighty  hand  it  was,  with  powers 
like  none  other ;  for  glowin'  with  fire  is  it, 
an'  needs  no  guidin'  for  doin'  its  work. 
Golden  is  its  handle,  an'  wrought  with 
sthrange  runes  an'  spells." 

He  looked  waitin'  at  Curigh  Mor,  that 
shouted  rough  like — 

"Nay,  be  off  with  yees!  I  know  naught 
o*  yer  hammer ! " 


KING  O^  THE  THREE  WINDS     233 

**  A  fine  thing,  that,  for  any  to  be  afther 
givin'  to  a  beggar  man,"  chuckled  a  quare 
bit  of  a  dwarf  that  was  sittin'  cross-legged 
nigh  them.  "  Maybe  yeVe  stolen  his  cloak 
o'  silver  cloth,  forbye  his  hammer,  Curigh 
Mor ;  to  speak  naught  o'  his  fine  suit  o' 
bronze  armour  an'  the  tore  o'  wrought  gold 
from  his  neck." 

An'  while  all  round  were  shakin'  an'  laughin' 
at  the  angered  face  o'  the  ould  smith,  Rodan 
was  keepin'  eye  on  Curigh  Mor.  A  tall, 
dark,  heavy  man  was  he,  an'  with  lowerin' 
brows  an'  great  black  beard  like  many  o' 
those  nigh.  An'  bein'  as  it  was  warm  in  the 
sun,  Rodan  was  wondherin'  how  it  was  that 
he  kept  his  cloak  so  tight  held  to  him.  An' 
as  he  was  lookin',  the  ould  smith  raised  his 
hand  with  the  fourth  chain,  an'  the  corner  o' 
Curigh  Mors  mantle  blew  aside.  An'  be- 
neath Rodan  saw,  hangin'  from  his  belt,  a 
hammer,  with  handle  o'  wrought  gold  ;  an' 
the  head  o'  that  same  was  glowin'  like  a  coal 
o'  fire  in  the  wind. 

Never  waitin'  to  think  what  might  come, 


234      THE    SONS   O'    CORMAC 

Rodan  sprang  forward  an'  struck  Curigh 
Mor  on  the  breast. 

"  'Tis  a  false  thafe  ye  are  !  "  says  he,  fear- 
less. ''Give  back  the  hammer,  lest  evil 
come  on  ye  an'  all  in  yer  ill-gotten  castle. 
The  son  of  a  warrior  am  I,  an'  sister's  son  to 
Mahon  o'  Rosnaree,  an'  no  man's  man  but 
his,  that  was  once  aided  in  need  by  this  man 
ye're  afther  showin'  scorn  to.  An'  every  man 
in  yer  court  do  I  challenge  to  fight  for  it, 
takin'  one  o'  me  own  years  first,  an'  then  one 
sthronger  —  till  I  come  to  yerself,  Curigh 
Mor,  that  was  born  no  king,  but  thrall  of  a 
betther  man  nor  stands  jeerin'  by  ye.  An' 
the  hammer  shall  ye  return  to  him  that  owns 
it  by  right ;  an'  Eimer,  daughter  o'  Duach  o' 
the  Ford,  shall  ye  free,  an'  give  gold  in  king's 
measure  for  forcin'  her  to  serve  the  cowards 
that  serve  ye,  thrall  an'  traitor  an'  thafe ! " 

Then  was  Curigh  Mor  ragin'  past  words. 
He  beckoned  to  a  young  fightin'  man  that 
stood  by,  an'  pointed  to  Rodan.  An'  'twas 
few  words  were  needed  there.  Swords  were 
out,  an'  silent  were  all  as  the  wind  o'  yester 


KING  O'  THE  THREE  WINDS    235 

morn — while  clash  !  went  steel  on  steel.  An' 
before  Curigh  Mor  had  fair  taken  breath  to 
watch  the  outcomin',  sure,  Rodan  had  sthruck 
down  young  Seumas,  an'  had  him  lyin'  at  his 
mercy  on  the  rough  stones.  Dark  wrath 
was  in  the  face  o'  the  King  o'  the  Three 
Winds  in  that  hour. 

The  ould  smith  signed  quick  to  Rodan  to 
hearken. 

*'  Hang  the  chains  loose  on  yer  arm,"  says 
he,  whisperin'  low,  '*an'  if  a  wind  sweeps 
over  ye,  cast  a  chain  at  it  an'  take  no  more 
heed,  for  all  will  go  well." 

Rodan  nodded,  light-hearted  an'  full  o' 
courage,  an'  stepped  out  to  meet  the  next 
man  that  offered.  An'  'twas  one  broad- 
shouldhered  an'  scarred  with  much  battlin' 
that  met  him  —  for  many  o'  the  weaker  o' 
Curigh  Mors  men  began  slippin'  off  quiet 
like,  fearin'  to  be  called  on  to  fight  in  an  ill 
quarrel. 

Now  the  strength  o'  two  was  in  Rodan's 
arm,  yet  was  he  pressed  hard.  An'  as  the 
smith  watched,  sure,  one  pulled  at  his  arm 


236      THE    SONS   O*   CORMAC 

from  behind,  an'  'twas  Eimer,  her  face  white 
with  dreadin'  what  might  come  to  the  lad. 

"  Look  to  Curigh  Mor,"  says  she.  **'Tis 
turnin'  to  the  south  he  is.  The  wind  '11  be 
afther  workin'  his  wicked  will." 

"Wait  an'  see,"  counselled  the  smith.  *'  Be 
ready,  too,  an'  when  ye  see  a  chain  fall  from 
the  hand  o'  the  lad  that  fights  yer  battle  an' 
mine,  run  ye  quick  an'  bring  it  to  me,  fearin' 
naught." 

Then  Curigh  Mor  pulled  the  hammer  from 
his  girdle,  thinkin  none  saw — an'  called  on 
the  south  wind  to  dhrive  off  the  beggars. 
But  as  it  swept  up  the  courtyard,  Rodan, 
never  ceasin'  his  sword  playin',  threw  the 
first  o'  the  chains  from  him — an'  sudden  all 
was  still,  the  chain  lyin'  in  the  dust  an'  the 
scarred  warrior  by  it.  Eimer  hastened  quick 
an'  brought  it  to  its  right  owner,  that  grasped 
it  an'  held  it  with  firm  grip,  sayin'  words  that 
none  could  make  out. 

When  Curigh  Mor  saw  that  the  power  o' 
the  south  wind  hindhered  Rodan  never  a  bit, 
he  swift  loosed  the  east  wind  and  the  west 


KING  O'  THE  THREE  WINDS     237 

wind,  an'  like  a  whirlwind  they  howled  as 
they  met.  Scarce  knew  Rodan  where  to 
turn,  but  out  he  flung  the  chains,  an'  the 
winds  sank,  masthered.  An'  Curigh  Mor 
saw  his  warriors  an'  his  sthrong  fightin'  men 
slinkin'  out  o'  the  gate,  not  wishin'  to  risk 
battlin'  with  that  lad.  Losin'  all  wisdom,  he 
dhrew  out  the  hammer  that  he'd  so  far  hidden 
close,  an'  whirled  it  above  his  head,  meanin 
to  beat  down  the  young  hero  that  had  named 
him  for  what  he  was.  But  as  the  great  ham- 
mer, glowin'  an'  sparklin',  left  his  hand,  flyin' 
through  the  air,  the  ould  beggar  whistled  sharp 
an'  shrill,  an'  like  a  bird  swervin'  in  flight  the 
hammer  went  straight  into  the  knotted  hand 
o'  L6n  the  Smith,  that  had  sought  it  over 
many  lands. 

Sure,  a  hush  o'  death  was  there  in  the 
courtyard,  an'  Curigh  Mor  covered  his  false 
head  with  his  arm,  while  Rodan  stood  won- 
dherin'  that  none  came  against  him. 

High  in  air  flashed  the  hammer,  held  in 
the  sthrong  grasp  that  knew  it  well.  An'  in 
place  o'  the  rags  that  had  covered  the  ould 


238      THE    SONS   O'   CORMAC 

beggar,  armour  o'  wrought  bronze  an'  a  cloak 
o'  silver  cloth,  an'  a  tore  o'  fine  gold  wrought 
by  no  mortal  smith  glittered  in  the  noon  sun. 
Once  he  swung  his  arm,  shakin'  wide  the 
chains,  an'  the  four  winds  swept  out  from  him 
on  every  side,  an  the  walls  o'  Curigh  Mor 's 
castle  were  scatthered  an'  flyin'  down  the 
valley  side. 

Again  he  whirled  the  hammer,  an'  Curigh 
Mor  an'  his  dwarf,  that  were  all  left  o'  the 
proud  company,  shrunk  down  to  no  bigger 
nor  yer  finger,  an'  scutthered  away  an'  hid  in 
the  leaves. 

**  'Tis  not  for  little  men  to  be  afther  showin' 
discourtesy  to  sthrangers,"  says  L6n,  laughin'. 

Then,  towerin'  high  above  the  forest  trees, 
where  the  birds  were  singin'  wild  an'  free,  he 
bent  an'  caught  up  Rodan  an'  Eimer,  an' 
back  he  strode  across  the  land,  like  the 
comin'  of  a  thunder-cloud,  never  settin'  them 
down  till  he  saw,  far  below,  the  great  dun  o 
Mahon,  chieftain  in  Rosnaree. 

Sure,  those  within  heard  the  growlin' 
o'  storm,  but  naught  they  saw  save  a  dark 


Rodan  cheerin'  Eimer  with  brave  words." 


KING  O'  THE  THREE  WINDS    239 

mist  risin'  from  where  stood  Rodan,  cheerin' 
Eimer  with  brave  words. 

In  the  flashin'  o'  lightnin'  from  above  came 
a  long  line  o'  little  men  in  green,  carryin 
gold  an'  rich  gifts  for  the  daughter  o'  Duach, 
to  the  hall  where  sat  Mahon — but  never  more 
did  L6n  the  Smith  come  wandherin'  to  Ros- 
naree,  seekin'  aught  lost  by  lookin'  too  long 
at  heroes. 

["An'  now  be  off  with  yees  for  the  last  time, 
for  I've  never  a  tale,  nor  a  thought  of  a 
tale,  left  in  me  poor  ould  brain.  'Tis 
meself  ye've  blandandhered  out  of  all  I 
ever  knew,  an'  me  mother  before  me — 
so  out  an'  pack  an'  seek  fortune  for  yer- 
selves  by  an'  beyant  the  fine  school  ye're 
off  to  the  morn's  mornin'."] 


Printed  by  Ballantyne,  Hanson  &*  Co. 
Edinburgh  6^  London 


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"  Capital  short  stories  of  France,  written  in  Mr.  Wey man's  well-known 
vein."— Outlook,  New  York. 

"...  The  tales  and  episodes  are  all  so  good  that  it  is  hardly  fair  to 
Mr.  Weyman  to  say  some  are  better  than  others."' — Times,  Boston. 

"...     About  this  author's  stories  there  is  a  dash,  and  a  nerve,  and  a 
swing,  and  a  '  go '  that  no  other  surpasses  though  he  has  many  imitators.    .    . 
The  opening  story,  '  Flore,'  is  marvelously  intense  in  plot,  and  its  execution, 
with  a  play  of  action  and  incident  and  thriUing  situation  that  is  incessant.    Every 
story  in  the  book,  for  that  matter,  is  a  masterpiece." — Commercial,  Buffalo. 

"  The  twelve  stories  .  .  .  are  full  of  that  romantic  charm  which  he  has 
communicated  to  his  more  elaborate  works  of  historical  fiction.  .  .  .  His 
historical  portraits  are  never  overdone,  they  are  always  sketched  with  equal 
restraint  and  precision.     The  book  is  abundantly  entertaming.' 

— New  York  Tribune. 

"  Stanley  Weyman  was  the  leader  in  the  general  revival  of  the  historical  and 
romantic  novel,  and  he  is  still  one  of  the  best  writers  in  this  field.  .  .  .  '  In 
Kings'  Byways '  are  stories  of  different  periods,  but  Mr.  Weyman  is  always  at 
his  best  when  dealing  with  Henry  of  Navarre  or  the  generation  just  before.  In 
his  hands  Old  France  lives  again,  picturesque  and  absorbing.  All  these  stories 
.  .  .  are  finished,  artistic  and  gracefully  told.  The  novelette  '  For  the 
Cause'  is  probably  the  most  powerful  thing  Mr.  Weyman  has  ever  written." 

— New  York  World. 

"...  Mr.  Weyman's  latest  book,  '  In  Kings'  Byways,'  is  inevitably  of 
the  class  that  entertains.  And  that  it  does  entertain  is  sufficient  justification  for 
its  writing." — Transcript,  Boston. 

•'  It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  these  tales  are  worth  the  reading.  They  re- 
late with  a  quality  that  cannot  be  denied  the  highest  praise,  tales  of  love  and 
war  and  court  and  highway  Not  one  of  them  is  dull,  not  one  to  be  passed  over 
as  not  worthy  of  attention.  All  are  dramatic,  all  good  in  form,  and  if  one  must 
be  selected  from  out  the  rest  as  best,  '  The  House  on  the  Wall '  is  chosen, " 

—Courier-Journal,  Louisville,  Ky. 


LONGMANS.  GREEN.  &  CO..  91-93  FIFTH  AVENUE.  NEW  YORK 


COUNT  HANNIBAL 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  COURT  OF  FRANCE 

By  STANLEY  J.   WEYMAN 

AUTHOR   OF    "A   GENTLEMAN   OF   FRANCE,"    "UNDER   THE    RED    ROBE, 
"THE   CASTLE   INN,"   ETC.,    ETC. 


With  Frontispiece.    Crown  8vo,  cloth,  ornamental,  $1.50 


"  It  is  very  seldom  that  one  runs  across  a  historical  novel  the  plot  of  which  is 
so  ably  sustained,  the  characters  so  strongly  drawn,  the  local  color  or  atmosphere 
so  satisfactory,  .  .  .  '  Count  Hannibal '  is  the  strongest  and  most  interest- 
ing novel  as  yet  written  by  this  popular  author." — Boston  Times, 

"  Stanley  J.  Weyman  has  had  hundreds  of  imitators  since  he  wrote  'A  Gen- 
tleman of  France,*  but  no  man  has  yet  surpassed  him,  I  know  of  no  book  in 
the  whole  list  of  popular  favorites  that  holds  one's  interest  more  intensely  or 
moie  continuously  than  '  Count  Hannibal'  does.  And  what  an  insistent,  throat- 
gripping  interest  it  is ! 

What  is  the  use  of  hoping  for  a  decadence  of  the  craze  for  historical 
romances  so  long  as  the  public  is  fed  on  books  like  this  ?  Such  a  story  has  zest 
for  the  most  jaded  palate  ;  nay,  it  can  hold  the  interest  even  of  a  book  reviewer. 
From  the  first  page  to  the  last  there  is  not  a  moment  when  one's  desire  to  finish 
the  book  weakens.  Along  with  the  ordinary  interest  of  curiosity  there  goes  that 
of  a  delightful  and  unique  love  story  involving  no  little  skill  in  character  deline- 
ation."— Record- Herald,  Chicago. 

"  A  spirited,  tersely  interesting  and  most  vivid  story  of  scenes  and  incidents 
and  portrayals  of  various  characters  that  lived  and  fought  and  bled  in  the  lurid 
days  that  saw  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew.  .  .  .  This  is  Mr.  Weyman's 
most  graphic  and  realistic  novel." — Picayune,  New  Orleans. 

"  Mr.  Weyman  has  surpassed  himself  in  'Count  Hannibal.'  The  scene  of 
the  story  is  laid  chiefly  in  Paris,  at  the  time  of  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholo- 
mew. .  .  ,  We  are  made  to  grasp  the  soul  of  Count  Hannibal  and  are  tacitly 
asked  to  let  its  envelope  take  care  of  itself.  .  .  .  Never  has  Mr.  Weyman 
achieved,  in  fact,  a  higher  degree  of  verisimilitude.  Count  Hannibal  may  leave 
us  breathless  with  his  despotic  methods,  but  he  is  not  abnormal ;  he  is  one  of  the 
Frenchmen  who  shared  the  temper  which  made  the  St.  Bartholomew,  and  he  is  in- 
tensely human  too  ,  .  .  how  the  tangle  of  events  in  which  he  and  half  a 
dozen  others  are  involved  is  straightened  out  we  refrain  from  disclosing.  The 
reader  who  once  takes  up  this  book  will  want  to  find  all  this  out  for  himself  " 

—New  York  Tribune. 

"A  story  in  Mr,  Weyman's  best  vein,  with  the  crimson  horror  of  St.  Bar- 
tholomew as  an  historical  setting,  '  Count  Hannibal '  is  a  worthy  companion  of 
'  A  Gentleman  of  France '  and  '  The  Red  Cockade,'  and  Mr.  Weyman's  hand  is 
as  cunning  as  ever  in  fashioning  a  romance  which  will  send  a  thrill  through  the 
most  jaded  reader  and  keep  even  a  reviewer  from  his  bed." 

— Bookman,  London, 

"  The  book  is  rapid,  is  absorbing,  and  the  hero  is  a  distinctly  interesting 
character  in  himself,  apart  from  his  deeds  of  daring. " — Athen^um. 

"  Mr.  Stanley  Weyman's  '  Count  Hannibal '  is  fully  worthy  of  his  great  repu- 
tation— the  style  is  brilliant,  easy  and  clear ;  the  invention  of  subject  and  the 
turns  of  fortune  in  the  story  surprising ;  above  all,  the  subtle  painting  of  a  man 
and  a  woman's  heart  is  done  with  inexhaustible  knowledge" — Guardian. 

"  A  picturesque  and  vigorous  romance.  The  narrative  will  be  followed  with 
breathless  interest."— Times,  London. 


LONGMANS,  GEEEN,  &  00.,  91-93  PIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YOEK 


SOPHIA 

By  STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN 


With  12  Illustrations  by  C.  Hammond.    Crown  8vo,  cloth, 
ornamental,  $1.50. 


"  Mr.  Weyman's  new  romance  illustrates  the  types  and  manners  of  fashion- 
able London  society  in  the  year  1742.  In  everything-  that  means  the  revival  of 
an  historical  atmosphere  it  is  skilful,  and,  on  the  whole,  just.  The  characters 
also  are  well  realized.  .  .  .  '  Sophia  '  is  a  decidedly  interesting  novel.  .  .  . 
The  tale  moves  swiftly,  hurrying  on  from  the  town  to  the  heath,  from  hatred  to 
love,  from  imprisonment  on  bread  and  water  to  diamonds  .  .  .  and  a  dozen 
other  things.  Sophia,  the  heroine,  is  a  bundle  of  girlish  foolishness  and  charms. 
'Sophia,'  the  book,  is  a  bundle  of  more  or  less  extraordinary  episodes  woven 
into  a  story  in  the  most  beguiling  manner." — NEW  York  Tribune,  April,  1900. 

"It  is  a  good,  lively,  melodramatic  story  of  love  and  adventure  .  .  ,  it  is 
safe  to  say  that  nobody  who  reads  the  lively  episode  in  the  first  chapter  will 
leave  the  book  unfinished,  because  there  is  not  a  moment's  break  in  the  swift 
and  dramatic  narrative  until  the  last  page.  .  .  .  The  dramatic  sequence  is 
nearly  faultless."— Tribune,  Chicago. 

"  Sophia,  with  her  mistakes,  her  adventures,  and  her  final  surrender;  Sophia 
moving  among  the  eighteenth  century  world  of  fashion  at  Vauxhall ;  Sophia  fly- 
ing through  the  country  roads,  pursued  by  an  adventurer,  and  Sophia  captured 
by  her  husband,  transport  one  so  far  from  this  work-a-day  life  that  the  reader 
comes  back  surprised  to  find  that  this  prosaic  world  is  still  here  after  that  too- 
brief  excursion  into  the  realm  of  fancy." 

—New  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"The  gem  of  the  book  is  its  description  of  the  long  coach-ride  made  by 
Sophia  to  Sir  Hervey's  home  in  Sussex,  the  attempt  made  by  highwaymen  to 
rob  her,  and  her  adventures  at  the  paved  ford  and  in  the  house  made  silent  by 
smallpox,  where  she  took  refuge.  Tnis  section  of  the  story  is  almost  as  breath- 
less as  Smollett.  ...  In  the  general  firmness  of  touch,  and  sureness  of 
historic  portrayal,  the  book  deserves  high  praise."— BUFFALO  Express. 

" '  Sophia '  contains,  in  its  earlier  part,  a  series  of  incidents  that  is,  we  believe, 
the  most  ingenious  yet  planned  by  its  author.  .  .  .  The  adventure  develops 
and  grows,  the  tension  increases  with  each  page,  to  such  an  extent  that  the 
hackneyed  adjective,  'breathless,'  finds  an  appropriate  place." 

—NEW  York  Mail  and  Express. 

"  •  Sophia,'  his  latest,  is  also  one  of  his  best.  A  delightful  spirit  of  adventure 
hangs  about  the  story;  something  interesting  happens  in  every  chapter.  The 
admirable  ease  of  style,  the  smooth  and  natural  dialogue^  the  perfect  adjust- 
ment of  events  and  sequences  conceal  all  the  usual  obttusive  mechanism,  and 
hold  the  curiosity  of  the  reader  throughout  the  development  of  an  excellent  plot 
and  genuine  people."— Public  LEDGER,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

*'  Those  who  read  Mr.  Stanley  J.  Weyman's  '  Castle  Inn  '  with  delight,  will 
find  in  his  '  Sophia  '  an  equally  brilliant  performance,  in  which  they  are  intro- 
duced to  another  part  of  the  Georgian  era.  .  .  .  Mr,  Weyman  knows  the 
eighteenth  century  from  top  to  bottom,  and  could  any  time  be  more  suitable 
fov  the  writer  of  romance  ?  .  .  .  There  is  only  one  way  to  define  the  subtle 
charm  and  distinction  of  this  book,  and  that  is  to  say  that  it  deserves  a  place  on 
the  book-shelf  beside  those  dainty  volumes  in  which  Mr.  Austin  Dobson  has  em- 
balmed the  very  spirit  of  the  period  of  the  hoop  and  the  patch,  the  coffee-house, 
and  the  sedan  chair.  And  could  Mr.  Stanley  Wevman  ask  for  better  company 
for  his  books  than  that  ?  "—Evening  Sun,  New  York. 

"  Contains  what  is  probably  the  most  ingenious  and  exciting  situation  even 
he  has  ever  invented."— BOOK  BUYER,  NEW  York. 


LONGMANS,  GEEEN.  &  00m  91-93  riETH  AVE.,  NEW  YOEK. 


STELLA  FREGELIUS 

A  Tale  of  Two  Destinies 
By    H.   RIDER    HAGGARD 

AUTHOR   OF    "king   SOLOMON'S   MINES,"   "SHE,"  ETC, 


Crown  8vo,  $1.50 


"...  while  Stella  Fregelius  is  a  wide  departure  in  style  it  is  one  of 
the  most  interesting  books  Mr.  Haggard  has  ever  given  us  .  .  ,  the 
struggles  of  the  young  inventor  to  perfect  the  aerophone  are  only  incidental  to  a 
story  of  remarkable  psychological  force.  Queer  it  may  be  called  in  a  sense, 
but  certainly  this  is  one  of  the  most  absorbing  narratives  that  Mr.  Haggard  has 
ever  written.     .     .     ."—Chronicle-Telegraph,  Pittsburgh, 

"...  The  story  is  full  of  the  charm  of  expression  that  made  Haggard 
so  popular.  It  is  full  of  human  interest  throughout.  There  is  nothing  dull 
about  the  story,  and  the  whole  world  of  literature  will  read  it  with  interest  and 
be  entertained  by  it."— The  Worcester  Spy, 

"...  It  is,  in  fact,  radically  different  in  scheme  and  treatment  from 
Mr.  Haggard's  previous  stories,  but  for  all  that  it  bears  the  stamp  of  his  genius 
and  will  prove  fascinating  to  all  readers.  It  is  called  a  '  tale  of  three  destinies,' 
and  is  at  once  mystical,  philosophical,  and  full  of  '  human  interest. '  There  are 
touches  of  humor,  also,  and  altogether  the  story  is  worthy  of  Mr.  Haggard." 
—Democrat  and  Chronicle,    Rochester. 

"...  The  story  is  of  absorbing  interest.  Like  most  of  this  author's 
novels  the  style  is  brilliant,  easy,  and  clear.  The  narrative  will  of  necessity  be 
followed  with  breathless  interest  from  beginning  to  end.  The  plot  is  well  con- 
structed, Mr.  Haggard  controls  the  evolution  of  the  story  with  the  true  art  that 
leaves  an  impression  of  absolute  naturalness." — New  York  American. 

"...  To  give  even  the  complete  outlines  of  his  new  story  .  .  . 
would  require  many  columns  for  the  simple  catalogue  of  the  varied  experiences 
of  the  splendidly  portrayed  characters.  The  story  is  of  absorbing  interest. 
Like  most  of  this  author's  novels,  the  style  is  easy,  brilliant,  and  clear," 

—Mail,  Halifax,  N.  S.,  Can. 

"  The  main  idea  of  this  new  story  by  one  of  the  most  daring  inventors  of  the 
modern  tale  of  adventure  is  a  novel  one,  the  enlistment  of  the  services  of  science 
in  the  search  for  a  knowledge  of  the  hereafter,  the  employment  of  an  instrument 
for  the  transmission  of  one  of  the  earthly  senses  in  the  opening  up  of  communi- 
cation with  the  spirit  world  .  .  .  the  invention  which  serves  him  in  these 
pages  is  that  of  a  wireless  telephone,  which  is  to  call  back  the  departed  across 
the  chasm,  .  ,  .  Mr.  Haggard  has  written  a  story  that  is  much  of  a  nov- 
elty from  him,  and,  truth  to  tell,  it  is  far  more  interesting  than  would  be  another 
tale  of  Jerusalem  or  South  African  wonders  from  his  pen." 

—Mail  and  Express,  New^  York, 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


LYSBETH 


A     TALE     OF     THE     DUTCH 

By  H.  rider  haggard 

AUTHOR  OF  "she,"    "  KING  SOLOMON'S  MINES,"    "  SWALLOW,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


With  26  Full-page  Illustrations.    Crown  8vo,  Cloth, 
Ornamental,  $1.50 


"  Mr.  Rider  Haggard  at  his  very  best.  To  give  an  adequate  idea  of  the  story 
of  '  Lysbeth '  we  should  require  many  columns  for  the  simple  catalogue  of  the 
adventures  and  perils  and  fights  and  escapes  which  make  up  one  of  the  most 
vigorous  and  exciting  tales  ever  written."— The  Bookman,  London. 

"  It  is  a  thrilling  tale  of  adventure  and  sacrifice,  with  a  substantial  love 
element  and  strong  side  lights  upon  the  history  of  the  people  of  the  Netherlands 
during  the  period  in  which  the  masterly  drawn  characters  move.  It  is  told  in  a 
captivating  style  with  never-flagging  interest,  and  is  by  all  odds  the  best  story, 
as  it  will  probably  be  the  most  popular,  that  this  author  has  written." 

—North  American,  Philadelphia. 

"  '  Lysbeth '  is  one  of  the  most  complete  romances  that  have  been  written ; 
.  .  .  it  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  .  .  .  stories  of  the  Spanish  misrule 
tn  the  Netherlands.  It  includes  all  the  elements  for  romantic  narrative — 
ufiection,  peril,  bravery  and  villainy,  and  each  delineated  with  impressiveness 
that  moves  the  reader  to  alternate  emotions  of  admiration  and  detestation." 

—Boston  Courier. 

"...  May  be  safely  called  the  best  story  of  this  popular  writer  ol 
adventures.  His  vivid  and  audacious  style  of  picturing  thrilling  and  improb- 
able adventures  is  given  full  play.  The  historical  background  adds  much  to 
the  interest  of  the  story  if  one  is  not  interested  merely  in  adventures.  .  .  . 
The  illustrations  of  the  book  are  numerous  and  excellent. " 

—Boston  Transcript. 

"...  A  novel  which  is  well  worth  reading.  Haggard  is  master  of  an 
inimitable  style.  He  is  a  wonderful  painter  of  battles,  and  the  description  of 
the  flight  with  Brant's  jewels  down  the  canal  and  out  to  sea  is  one  of  the  best 
descriptions  of  a  fight  ever  written.  *  Lysbeth '  is  a  novel  which  sustains  the 
interest  from  the  first  to  the  last  chapter. "—San  Francisco  Bulletin. 

"  Here  is  a  really  strong  piece  of  work,  and  one  in  which  Rider  Haggard 
appears  on  an  entirely  new  ground.  .  .  .  The  historical  background  is 
sufficient  in  itself  to  make  a  story  of  entrancing  interest,  and  the  two  or  three 
romances  which  have  been  interwoven  with  it  make  the  book  one  of  the  most 
notable  even  among  the  many  excellent  works  of  recent  historical  fiction.  The 
Spanish  and  the  Dutch  types  are  both  true  to  life,  and  the  historical  setting  is 
remarkably  accurate  and  true.  Rider  Haggard  will  indeed  win  more  lasting 
renown  by  his  work  on  •  Lysbeth '  than  by  his  wierd  tales  which  were  the  talk  of 
a  day  and  then  forgotten." — Living  Church. 


LONGMAUS,  GEEEU,  &  CO.,  91-93  FITTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YOEK. 


PEARL-MAIDEN 

A  Tale  of  the  Fall  of  Jerusalem 
By  H.  RIDER  HAGGARD 


With  26  Full-page  Illustrations  by  Byam  Shaw 
Crown,  8vo,  cloth,  ornamental ,  $1.50 


"...  The  story  is  of  absorbing  interest.  It  is  very  seldom 
that  one  runs  across  an  historical  novel,  the  plot  of  which  is  so  ably 
sustained.  Something  interesting  happens  in  every  chapter.  There 
are  some  delightful  love  passages,  for  no  novel  can  be  considered 
perfect  without  a  little  of  that.  The  story  has  zest  and  is  full  of 
adventure.  The  style  is  brilliant,  easy  and  clear.  The  narrative 
will  be  followed  with  breathless  interest.  The  book  is  beautifully 
printed,  handsomely  bound,  and  profusely  illustrated.     .     .     ." 

— Eau  Claire  Leader,  Wis. 

•♦  .  .  .  It  is  one  of  the  best  books  that  Mr.  Haggard  has 
written  for  several  years.  ...  It  contains  two  or  three  scenes 
of  uncommon  strength ;  the  arena  scene,  with  the  Christian  martyrs, 
in  the  opening  pages,  the  sale  of  Roman  slave  girls,  near  the  close. 
It  is  not  a  book  which  can  be  read  through  in  a  brief  half  hour  or 
two,  and  it  does  not  permit  the  attention  to  wander.  Altogether  it 
is  a  book  which  deserves  a  wider  notice." 

— Commercial  Advertiser,  New  York. 

"...  there  is  vigor,  charm,  and  doubtless  historical  value 
in  the  pictures  which  Mr.  Haggard  draws  of  dramatic  events  and 
splendid  pageants  that  will  never  lose  interest  and  significance  to  a 
world  yet  shaken  by  their  influence." — Outlook,  New  York. 

"...  'Pearl  Maiden'  must  be  ranked  among  his  best 
books.  It  is  full  of  adventure,  of  terrible  dangers  met  on  the  battle- 
field and  elsewhere  ...  is  from  beginning  to  end  absorbing. 
Never  has  Mr.  Haggard  been  more  inventive  or  more  skilful.  His 
plot  is  well  constructed,  and  he  controls  the  evolution  of  the  story 
with  the  art  that  leaves  an  impression  of  absolute  naturalness.  We 
must  add  a  good  word  for  the  numerous  illustrations  by  Mr.  Byam 
Shaw.  They  are  cleverly  drawn  with  the  pen,  but  they  are  even 
more  to  be  praised  for  the  freshness  and  variety  with  which  they 
have  been  designed. " — New  York  Tribune. 

*♦...*  Pearl  Maiden  '  is  a  more  convincing  story  than  any 
he  has  written  about  imaginary  kingdoms  .  .  .  there  is  no 
reason  why  it  should  not  rival  the  popularity  of  ♦  She '  and  *  King 
Solomon's  Mines,'  and  in  any  event  it  will  be  sure  to  find  many  fas- 
cinated readers.  ...  It  is  the  best  story  Mr.  Haggard  has 
written  in  recent  years." — Republican,  Springfield,  Mass. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO.,    91-93  FIFTH  AVE.,    NEW  YORK 


THE  WHIRLIGIG 

By  MAYNE  LINDSAY 

AUTHOR    OF   "THE  VALLEY   OF   SAPPHIRES' 


With  8  full-pagre  Illustrations  by  Maurice  Grieffenhag:e  i 
Crown  8vo,  $1  .25 


"Crisp  and  clever  diction,  thrilling  yet  always  possible  situations,  with 
strength  sustained  throughout,  are  the  features  of  the  story.  It  is  a  perfect 
romance." — Lloyds'  News. 

"  Fairly  takes  one  off  his  feet  with  its  crowded,  impetuous,  bustling  succes- 
sion of  events.  The  story  is  well  told  and  holds  the  interest  .  .  .  The  story 
while  discoursing  of  dangerous  things  does  it  lightly  and  with  a  skillful  hand." 

— Courier-Journal,  Louisville,  Ky. 

"  Makes  stirring  reading  .  .  .  the  action  takes  place  within  three  days, 
and  the  reader  is  carried  along  breathlessly  from  one  chapter  to  another." 

—Chicago  Tribune. 

"And  surely  it  is  a  '  Whirligig '  which  Mayne  Lindsay  has  devised,  abun- 
dant in  well-preserved  mystery,  with  the  proper  amount  of  sword-play  and  the  due 
complement  of  broken  heads,  and  full  of  exciting  yet  possible  situations.  Mr. 
Lindsay,  though  comparatively  a  new  writer,  shows  nothing  of  the  amateur  in 
this  dashing,  roystering  story,  which,  aside  from  its  incidents,  is  good  in  charac- 
ter drawing." — Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  The  author  is  a  young  and  comparatively  new  writer,  but  has  shown  un- 
usual skill  and  ingenuity  in  this  novel.  Seldom  has  an  author  succeeded  in 
crowding  two  days  of  a  man's  life  so  full  of  stirring,  unexpected  events  as  are 
here  provided  for  the  hero. " — Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"A  sparkling,  very  prettily  turned  little  romance,  whimsical  and  pictur- 
esque."—New  York  Times. 

"Among  stories  of  adventure  it  would  be  hard  to  match  '  The  Whirligig.' 
...  It  starts  in  a  quiet,  if  unconventional,  way,  but  once  fairly  launched  on 
the  stream  of  narrative,  the  reader  is  carried  along,  in  breathless,  eager  haste  to 
the  very  end.  It  is  a  story  to  thrill  the  pulses  and  keep  one  on  the  edge  of 
ardent  curiosity  as  to  what  is  going  to  turn  up  next."— Thb  Beacon,  Boston. 

"  There  is  no  dozing  or  drowsing  to  be  done  over  this  novel.  It  is  a  swiftly 
moving  tale  of  breathless  excitement.  It  is  drawn  according  to  a  famihar  pat- 
tern ;  but  it  has  merits  of  its  own  that  will  compel  the  attention  and  absorbed 
interest  of  every  reader  who  once  takes  it  up.  The  writer  is  new,  but  should 
soon  become  well  known  and  popular,  if  he  can  do  this  sort  of  thing  again." 

—Philadelphia  Times. 


LONGMANS,   GREEN,   &   CO.,  91-93   FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


THE  ROMMANY  STONE 

By  J.   H.  YOXALL,  M.  P. 


Crown  8vo,  cloth,  ornamental,  $1„50 


"A  story  of  gypsy  life  and  enchantment,  the  scene  of  which  is  laid  in  Eng 
land  .  .  .  well  told,  having  the  sort  of  interest  that  awakes  wonder,  and 
keeps  it  awake."— The  Outlook,  New  York. 

"A  romance  quite  worthy  of  being  classed  with  '  Lorna  Doone.'  " 

—Morning  Leadfr. 

"  .  .  ;  Is  good  beyond  all  cavil.  It  is  not  great ;  it  makes  no  pretension 
of  being  great;  but  it  will  probably  be  alive  when  most  of  the  recent  '  great ' 
works  are  dead.  There  are  three  or  four  scenes  that  will  bite  deep  into  any 
imagination  that  is  not  adamantean  proof" — Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"  The  fascination  in  all  that  belongs  to  gypsy  life  exerts  itself  powerfully  in 
•The  Rommany  Stone.'  .  .  .  The  story  is  skillfully  told,  the  most  note- 
worthy feature  being  its  admirable  literary  construction." 

— The  Churchman,  New  York. 


THE  THOUSAND  EUGENIAS 

By  MRS.  A.  SIDGWICK 

author  of   "  CYNTHIA'S   WAY,"   ETC. 


Crown  8vo,  cloth,  $1.50 


"'.  .  .  We  read  on  to  the  end  and  find  interest  in  every  page  of  the  book 
— which  in  the  end  is  the  best  test  of  a  story."— New  York  Times. 

".  .  .  A  volume  of  short  and  truly  humorous  tales.  .  .  .  One  might 
be  tempted  to  say  that  the  mantle  of  Stockton  had  fallen  upon  this  particular 
woman,  or  that  also  owing  to  some  atavistic  freak,  the  very  spirit  of  the  author 
of  '  Mrs.  Leeks  and  Mrs.  Aleshine  '  had  directed  the  creator  of  the  heroine  of 
•  The  Thousand  Eugenias '  in  her  portrayal  of  the  luckless  maiden  who  by  no 
chance  ever  even  stumbled  upon  the  proper  and  correct  and  sensible  thing  to 
do." — Courier-Journal,  Louisville,  Ky. 

"  .  .  .  It  deals  in  a  vivid  and  picturesque  way  with  the  theft  of  a  stock 
certificate  .  .  .  the  story  proceeds  cleverly  and  convincingly  to  a  dramatic 
conclusion."— The  Picayune,  New  Orleans. 

"  .  .  .  Appetizing  in  brisk  and  amusing  originality,  the  book  is  to  be  com- 
mended to  those  who  seek  pleasure  through  the  medium  of  sparkling  sketches 
of  the  lighter  sides  of  character."— Chicago  Evening  Post. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


CYNTHIA'S  WAY 

By  Mrs.  ALFRED  SIDGWICK 

AUTHOR  OF   *•  THE  INNER  SHRINE,"   "  THE  GRASSHOFPERS,"  ETa 


Crown  8vo,  cloth,  $1.50 


*•  This  is  a  tale  of  an  heiress  that  is  not  met  with  every  day.  Cynthia  Blount 
is  a  millionairess  whose  wish  it  is  to  be  loved  for  her  own  sake  and  not  for  her 
material  wealth.  As  a  means  to  this  end  she  takes  a  situation,  which  has  been 
offered  to  a  friend,  as  English  governess  in  a  German  family.  .  .  .  German 
family  life  is  very  intimately  and  faithfully  depicted,  and  most  of  the  character! 
are  well  drawn  and  interesting.     '  Cynthia's  Way '  is  well  worth  reading." 

—Daily  Chronicle,  NtwcASTLE,  Eng. 

"'  Thic  Is  an  unusually  interesting  book  ...  it  is  so  artistically  handled, 
so  delightfully  unravelled  that  one  forgets  and  forgives  .  .  .  for  light,  inter- 
esting literature,  a  joy  to  the  traveller,  this  dainty  book  has  not  been  surpassed 
in  many  moons."— Spirit  of  the  Times,  New  York. 

"  A  delightful  story  of  German  life.  .  .  .  Altogether  the  story  deservti 
higher  praise  than  it  is  possible  to  give  to  the  ruck  of  current  fiction. " 

—Journal,  Providence,  R.  I. 

"  It  is  a  most  amusing  novel.  .  .  .  For  the  fairness  of  the  book  it  would 
be  unsafe  to  vouch,  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  is  entertaining.  Even  a 
German  might  smile  over  it." — Republican,  Springfield,  Mass. 

"The  dialogue  of  the  book  fairly  sparkles,  and  the  light  fiction  of  the  year 
offers  no  more  charming  medium  of  pleasure.  *' — Denver  Republican. 

*'  ThLc  is  an  amusing,  clever  book,  full  of  humorous  scenes,  a  satirical  under- 
standing of  the  lighter  sides  of  character,  done  with  a  light  touch  and  much 
taste."— Commercial  Advertiser,  N.  Y. 

"  There  are  so  few  really  bright  and  entertaining  novels  this  season  that 
'  Cynthia's  Way '  will  be  gladly  seized  upon  by  hungry  novel  readers.  The  style 
is  very  taking  and  amusing." — Boston  Beacon. 

"  This  is  a  taking  story,  humorous  and  brisk,  with  a  flavor  of  originality 
that  makes  it  appetizing."— Free  Press,  Detroit,  Mich. 

"  A  most  readable  story  of  pure  tone  and  interesting  matter  .  .  .  can  be 
heartily  recommended  to  anyone  liking  a  wholesome  tale  of  interesting  people.  "• 

—Courier-Journal,  Louisville,  Ky. 

"  Mrs.  Sidgwick's  new  novel,  '  Cynthia's  Way '—her  cleverest  piece  of  work 
thus  far— reminds  us  sttongly  of  '  The  Benefactress.*  The  same  fre^h,  vivacious, 
and  femininely  ironical  style  marks  the  two  stories  and  wins  upon  the  reader 
with  irresistible  beguilement.  No  one  will  put  down  the  history  of  Cynthia,  we 
imagine,  until  the  last  page  is  reached." — N.  Y.  Tribune. 


LONGMANS,   GREEN,   &   a\.   91-93   FIFTH  AVENUE.  NEW  YORK. 


THE  MASTER  OF  GRAY 

A  Tale  of  the  Days  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots 

AUTHOR  OF  "MY  LADY  OF  ORANGE,"  "KARL  OF  ERBACH,"  ETC. 

By  H.   C.  BAILEY 


Crown  8vo,  $  1 .50 


"  A  story  of  the  plots  against  Elizabeth  during  the  imprisonment  of  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots  at  Tutbury.  At  first  one  is  inclined  to  find  the  talk  a  little  over- 
subtle  and  the  canvas  overcrowded  with  characters,  but  soon  the  air  clears,  the 
action  becomes  sharp,  the  characters  (and  especially  that  of  The  Master  of 
Gray  himself,  a  double  spy  and  traitor,  yet  most  fascinating  to  the  imagina- 
tion) stand  out  firmly,  and  one  closes  the  book  with  praise  for  a  spirited  and 
even  brilliant  romance." — The  Outlook. 

"  A  story  of  striking  interest,  well  told,  in  which  religious  zeal  and  fanaticism 
form  a  dramatic  background  in  the  days  of  Knox  and  the  Puritan  reformers." 
— ChrOxNicle-Telegraph,  Pittsburgh. 

"...  a  spirited  romance,  excellent  in  color  as  it  is  in  move- 
ment.    .    .    ." — New  York  Tribune. 

"...  Some  of  the  scenes  as  portrayed  by  Mr.  Bailey  are  strikingly 
dramatic  and  interesting.  He  has  individual  style,  and  yet  meets  the  standard 
of  the  romantic  novelist    ,     .     ." — St.  Louis  Republican, 

"...  those  who  delight  in  work  of  unusual  strength,  and  in  the  mani- 
festation of  unusual  skill,  will  find  entertainment  in  Mr.  Bailey's  story." 

—Public  Opinion. 

THE  BERYL  STONES 

A  Novel.     By  MRS.    ALFRED    SIDGWICK 

author   of   "CYNTHIA'S   WAY,"    "THE   THOUSAND    EUGENIAS,"   ETC. 


Crown  8vo,  $1.50 


"...  while  it  is  unusually  strong  in  dramatic  interest,  has,  aside  from 
this,  a  motive  that  will  sustain  its  interest  and  secure  its  longevity  far  more 
securely.     .     .     ."—Transcript,  Boston. 

"  Here  is  one  of  the  most  charming  tales  of  the  season.  .  .  .  The  work 
is  a  lovely  picture  of  a  pure,  high-spirited  woman,  climbing  to  success  and  hap- 
piness through  circumstances  which  would  have  crushed  an  ordinary  mortal  to 
the  earth."— Daily  Picayune,  New  Orleans. 

•'  .  .  .  tells  a  story  of  English  life,  not  remarkable,  perhaps,  in  any 
way,  but  full  of  the  quiet  charm  which  such  stories,  even  from  authors  of  the 
second  rank,  often  have  when  they  treat  of  English  scenes.     .     .     ." 

—The  Providence  Journal,  Providence,  R.  I. 


LONGMANS-  GREEN  &  CO..  91-93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


KARL   OF   ERBACH 

A  Tale  of  Lichtenstein  and  Solgau 
By  H.  C.  BAILEY 


Crown,  8vo,  cloth,  ornamental,  $1.50 


"  This  is  a  capital  story  of  old  Lichenstein  and  Solgau.  .  ,  . 
It  is  a  vivid,  pleasing  romance,  full  of  the  aroma  of  German  legend 
and  war." — Chronicle-Telegraph,  Pittsburg. 

"...  The  story  is  well  told,  and  is  one  of  the  best  of 
recent  historical  novels." — Republican^  Springfield,  Mass. 

*'  There  is  something  rare  and  preciously  refreshing  in  these 
days  in  a  hero  of  historical  romance  who  is  not  '  spilin'  for  a  fight,' 
and  we  encounter  just  such  a  hero  in  *  Karl  of  Erbach.'  .  .  .  Some 
notable  historic  figures  move  across  its  pages,  and  the  spirited 
action  carries  with  it  a  suggestion  of  the  making  of  history  which 
intensifies  the  novel's  impressiveness.  At  the  same  time,  espe- 
cially in  the  lighter  sentimental  aspect  of  the  story,  and  in  the 
delineation  of  such  characters  as  the  delightful  Comte  de  Lormont 
and  the  charming  Lady  Amaryllis,  the  author  reveals  a  delicacy  of 
touch  which  insures  pleasing  results  for  the  reader's  satisfac- 
tion.    .     .    .     " — Republic,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

«•  .  .  .  a  rattling  tale  of  love  and  war,  of  a  stronger  fibre 
and  with  characters  more  natural  and  human  than  can  be  said 
of  most  tales  of  its  kind.  .  .  .  '  But  '  Karl  of  Erbach '  is  very  good ; 
the  action  is  spirited." — New  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"  The  story  is  admirably  well  constructed,  free  from  extraneous 
matter  and  moving  swiftly.  The  succession  of  incidents  is  rapid. 
Mr.  Bailey's  men  are  dashing  and  brave,  and  his  women  are  charm- 
ing and  captivating.     What  more  could  anyone  want  in  a  romance? 

— Philadelphia  Press. 

<'  How  Karl  of  Erbach  saves  Solgau  and  restores  the  country  to 
peace  and  plenty,  and  how  he  wins  and  marries  the  Lady  Yoland  is 
the  matter  of  the  tale.  Mr.  Bailey  has  style,  dramatic  instinct,  and 
delicate  feeling,  and  these  combine  to  make  his  book  distinctive  and 
of  far  more  than  average  interest." — Public  Opinion,  New  York. 

"Mr.  Bailey  has  given  us  an  admirable  story  of  life  in  the 
provinces  of  Lichtenstein  and   Solgau,  during  the  Thirty  Years' 

War The  story  abounds  in  action  that  stirs  the  blood 

to  healthy  circulation.     It  is  well  planned,  well  written  and  will  be 
well  received." — Cleveland  World. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVE.,  NEW  YORK 


LUKE  DELMEGE 

By  P.  A.  SHEEHAN,  Parish  Priest,  Doneraile,  Co.  Cork 

AUTHOR   OF   "  MY  NEW  CURATE  '* 


Crown  8vo,  $1  .50 


"  This  is  an  exceedingly  powerful  and  absorbing  book.  Beginning  with  the 
true  artistic  quiet  and  restraint,  it  strengthens  and  broadens  in  power  and  inter- 
est until  it  moves  on  like  a  great  procession.  .  .  .  It  is  a  novel  but  it  is  more 
than  that.  It  is  a  great  sermon,  a  great  lesson,  almost  a  great  drama.  .  .  . 
We  cordially  commend  '  Luke  Delmege  '  for  its  lofty  purpose  and  thought,  its 
adequate  diction,  and  its  high  incentive  .  .  .  there  is  in  it  an  occasional 
touch  of  humor  which  is  very  welcome  and  which  is  truly  Irish  in  its  nature. 
Altogether  we  consider  '  Luke  Delmege  '  the  most  notable  religious  novel  that 
has  been  written  within  a  year."— The  Sun,  Baltimore,  Md. 

"  One  of  the  triumphs  among  the  works  of  fiction.  .  .  .  It  is  an  extremely 
interesting  tale  of  Irish  life,  full  of  profound  erudition,  and  withal  replete  with 
incident  and  pathos. " — Monitor,  St.  John,  N.  B. 

'"Luke  Delmege  '  is  in  some  respects  a  greater  accomplishment  than  its 
predecessor.  If  it  has  not  such  exuberance  of  humor,  its  theme  is  more  vital 
and  the  work  itself  more  substantial.  It  is  a  book  which  philosophers  and  se- 
rious students  will  enjoy  almost  as  thoroughly  as  the  chronic  novel-reader.  .  . 
No  other  author  has  given  us  such  a  series  of  clerical  portraits  ...  a  story 
of  which  Cathohcs  may  well  be  proud.  It  is  of  classic  quality,  and  generations 
hence  it  will  be  read,  enjoyed,  and  lauded  as  one  of  the  masterpieces  of  English 
fiction."— Ave  Maria,  Notre  Dame,  Ind. 

"  This  is  loftier  work  than  '  My  New  Curate,'  and  its  influence  will  be  stronger 
and  grander.  It  is  a  wonderful  story,  with  something  in  its  passionate  pleading 
for  the  supremacy  of  the  mystical  that  recalls  a  mediaeval  saint  emerging  from 
fiis  solitude  to  denounce  the  world  and  to  summon  the  few  elect  to  the  business 
of  their  salvation.  .  .  .  We  freely  pass  upon  the  book  the  judgment  that  it 
is  worthy  to  live  with  the  very  best  we  have  of  noble  and  uplifting  fiction." 

—Catholic  News,  N.  Y. 

"  Father  Sheehan's  latest  work  is  in  many  respects  his  best.  It  is  a  more 
pretentious  literary  effort  and  a  more  finished  work  than  '  My  New  Curate.' 
.  .  .  .  His  characters  are  strong  and  lifelike.  All  things  considered  '  Luke 
Delmege'  is  cne  of  the  best  things  that  have  been  published  lately." 

—Rosary  Magazine,  N.  Y. 

"  We  have  just  read  'Luke  Delmege,'  and  of  all  the  books  of  the  year,  ser- 
mon or  song  or  story,  we  put  it  first.  ...  In  this  new  work  he  adds  a  new 
glory  to  his  fame— a  place  in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen  forever." 

—Freeman's  Journal,  N.  Y. 

LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  00.,  91-93  FIPTH  AVENUE,  NEW  TOEK 


THE  LORD  PROTECTOR 

A  STORY 
By  S.  LEVETT  YEATS 

AUTHOS  or  '    THE  CHEVALIER   d'AURIAC,"  "  THE  HEART   OF  DENISE  **  ETC. 


With  Frontispiece.    Crown  8vo,  cloth,  ornamental,  $  1 .50 

In  this  story  the  author  has  taken  a  new  departure  and  has  portrayed  as  his 
central  character  one  of  the  most  striking  figures  in  English  history.  The  picture 
of  Cromwell  differs  somewhat  from  the  ordinarily  accepted  estimate  of  the  Pro- 
tector, and  is  an  interesting  one  from  that  point  of  view.  Other  great  figures  of 
the  time  are  necessarily  brought  into  the  story,  which  has  its  love  interest  in  the 
fortunes  of  the  heiress  of  Coombe  Royal. 

'*  .  .  .  This  is  an  interesting  tale  .  .  .  dramatic  and  even  tragic,  but 
there  are  some  humorous  touches  here  and  there,  and  the  tone  throughout  is 
rendered  the  more  attractive  through  the  author's  skill  in  handling  the  sylvan 
charms  of  the  countryside  in  Old  England." — New  York  Tribune. 

"  A  really  good  story  of  love  and  adventure  in  the  days  ot  the  Cavalier  and 
Roundheads.  .  .  ,  There  is  dash,  spirit  and  charm  in  the  story  that  makes 
it  thoroughly  readable."— Chronicle-Telegraph,  Pittsburg. 

"  An  excellent  story    ,    .     .  '—COMMERCIAL,  BUFFALO. 

" .  .  .  Is  an  exceedingly  interesting  romance.  .  .  .  The  story  is  well 
told,  contains  sufficient  of  romance,  adventure  and  daring  to  hold  the  keenest 
interest  throughout.  The  book  deserves  a  prominent  place  in  the  estimation  of 
lovers  of  historic  romance."— Daily  World,  Cleveland. 

" .  .  ,  It  is  an  interesting  story  from  first  page  to  last,  moreover  a 
wholesome  one  which  no  one  need  hesitate  to  recommend." 

—Herald,  Oneonta,  N.  Y. 

".  .  .  The  book  is  well  worth  reading  and  holds  the  interest  of  the 
reader  from  beginning  to  end    .     .     ."— American,  Baltimore. 

" .  .  .  There  is  action  on  every  page  of  the  book  ;  love,  fighting,  and  some 
very  good  humor.  The  author  has  a  most  pleasant  style,  and  wastes  no  words 
in  the  telling  of  his  story,  which  will  interest  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  and 
women.    It  is  a  book  full  of  enjoyment."— Nashville  American. 

"  There  is  the  same  vividness  of  conception  and  interesting  historical  detail 
that  have  marked  the  earlier  work  of  this  author."-THE  Dial,  Chicago. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


THE  CHEVALIER  D'AURIAC. 

A  ROMANCE. 
By   S.   LEVETT   YEATS. 

AUTHOR  OF  "the  HONOUR  OF  SAVELLI,"   ETC.,   ET& 


1  2nno,  cloth,  ornamental,  $1 .25. 


"The  story  is  full  of  action,  it  is  alive  from  cover  to  cover,  and  is  so  compact  with  thrilt> 
mg  adventure  that  there  is  no  room  for  a  dull  page.  The  chevalier  tells  his  own  story,  but 
he  is  the  most  charming  of  egoists.  He  wins  our  sympathies  from  the  outset  by  his  boyish 
naivete,  his  downright  manliness  and  bravery.  .  .  .  Not  only  has  Mr.  Yeats  written  an 
excellent  tale  of  adventure,  but  he  has  shown  a  close  study  of  character  which  does  not  bor- 
row merely  from  the  trappings  of  historical  actors,  but  which  denotes  a  keen  knowledge  of 
human  nature,  and  a  shrewd  insight  into  the  workings  of  human  motives.  .  .  .  The 
fashion  of  the  period  is  kept  well  in  mind,  the  style  of  writing  has  just  that  touch  of  old- 
fashioned  formality  which  serves  to  veil  the  past  from  the  present,  and  to  throw  the  lights 
and  shadows  into  a  harmony  of  tone.  .  .  .  The  work  has  literary  quality  of  a  genuine 
sort  in  it,  which  raises  it  above  a  numerous  host  of  its  fellows  in  kind. 

— Bookman,  New  York. 

"...  A  story  of  Huguenot  days,  brim  full  of  action  that  takes  shape  in  plots,  sud- 
den surprises,  fierce  encounters,  and  cunning  intri^es.  The  author  is  so  saturated  with  the 
times  of  which  he  writes  that  the  story  is  realism  itself.  .  .  .  The  story  is  brilliant  and 
thrilling,  and  whoever  sits  down  to  give  it  attention  will  reach  the  last  page  with  regret" 

— Globe,  Boston. 

"  .  .  .  A  tale  of  more  than  usual  interest  and  of  genuine  literary  merit  .  .  , 
The  characters  and  scenes  in  a  sense  seem  far  removed,  yet  they  live  in  our  hearts  and  seem 
contemporaneous  through  the  skill  and  philosophic  treatment  of  the  author.  Those  men  and 
women  seem  akin  to  us ;  they  are  flesh  and  blood,  and  are  impelled  by  human  motives  as  we 
are.     One  cannot  follow  the  fortunes  of  this  hero  without  feehng  refreshed  and  benefited." 

— Globe-Democrat,  St.  Louis. 

"  A  book  that  may  be  recommended  to  all  those  who  appreciate  a  good,  hearty,  rollicking 
story  of  adventure,  with  lots  of  fierce  fighting  and  a  proper  proportion  of  love-making.  .  ,  „ 
There  is  in  his  novel  no  more  history  than  is  necessary,  and  no  tedious  detail ;  it  is  a  story 
inspired  by,  but  not  slavishly  following,  history.  .  .  .  The  book  is  full  of  incident,  and 
from  the  first  chapter  to  the  last  the  action  never  flags.  ...  In  the  Chevalier  the  author 
has  conceived  a  sympathetic  character,  for  d' Auriac  is  more  human  and  less  of  a  puppet  than 
most  heroes  of  historical  novels,  and  consequently  there  are  few  readers  who  will  not  find  en- 
joyment in  the  story  of  his  thrilling  adventures,  .  .  .  This  book  should  be  read  by  all 
who  love  a  good  story  of  adventures.     There  is  not  a  dull  page  in  it." — New  York  Sun. 

"A  capital  story  of  the  Dumas- Weyman  order.  .  .  .  The  first  chapters  bring  one 
right  into  the  thick  of  the  story,  and  from  thence  on  the  interest  is  unflagging.  The  Cheva- 
lier himself  is  an  admirably  studied  character,  whose  straightforwardness  and  simplicity, 
bravery,  and  impulsive  and  reckless  chivalry,  win  the  reader's  sympathy.  D'Auriac  has 
something  of  the  intense  vitality  of  Dumas's  heroes,  and  the  delightful  improbabilities  through 
which  he  passes  so  invincibly  have  a  certain  human  quality  which  renders  them  akin  to  our 
day.     Mr.  Levett  Yeats  has  done  better  in  this  book  than  in  anything  else  he  has  written." 

— Picayune  New  Orleans. 

"The  interest  in  the  story  does  not  la^  for  an  instant;  all  is  life  and  action.  The  pict- 
uresque historical  setting  is  admirably  painted,  and  the  characters  are  skilfully  drawn,  espe- 
cially that  of  the  king,  a  true  monarch,  a  brave  soldier,  and  a  gentleman.  The  Chevalier  is 
the  typical  hero  of  romance,  fearing  nothing  save  a  stain  on  his  honor,  and  with  such  a  hero 
there  can  not  but  be  vigor  and  excitement  in  every  page  of  the  story." 

— Mail  and  Express,  New  York. 

"As  a  story  of  adventure,  pure  and  simple,  after  the  type  originally  seen  in  Dumas't 
'Three  Musketeers,'  the  book  is  well  worthy  of  high  praise.   —Outlook,  New  York. 

"  We  find  all  the  fascination  of  mediaeval  France,  which  have  made  Mr.  Weyman's  stories 
such  general  favorites.  .  .  .  We  do  not  see  how  any  intelligent  reader  can  take  it  up 
without  keen  enjoyment" — Living  Church,  Chicago. 


LONGMANS,  GEEEN,  &  00.,  91-93  FITTH  AVE.,  NEW  YOEK 


By  the  ramparts  OF  JEZREEL 

By  ARNOLD  DAVENPORT 


With  Frontispiece  by  Lancelot  Speed 
Crown,  8vo,  cloth,  ornamental,  $1.50 


**  .  .  .  The  merits  of  the  book  are  the  careful  details  of 
ancient  life  and  dress,  manners,  and  customs;  the  swift  onward 
movement  of  the  narrative,  the  breathless  ness  of  conflict,  the 
illusion  of  reality  that  conveys  a  thrill  of  suspense,  even  in  the  face 
of  palpable  absurdities.  And  beyond  a  doubt  the  character  of 
Jezebel,  as  an  incarnation  of  feminine  evil,  is  somewhat  more  than 
cleverly  drawn.  To  a  certain  degree  she  is  a  creation,  a  novel  bit 
of  character  painting." — Commercial  Advertiser,  New  York. 

" The  novel  is  exciting,  is  strongly  written  ,    .   .    . 

The  story  of  the  infamous  Queen  Jezebel  furnishes  the  materials  for 

a  dramatic  narrative  of  unusual  strength " 

— Brooklyn  Daily  Eagle. 

"...  The  romance  is  interesting  in  plot  and  is  replete  with 
action." — Baltimore  American. 

"...  There  is  a  wealth  of  imagery  in  the  story  and  a  well- 
sustained  plot  keeps  the  reader  interested  to  the  end.     .     .     ." 

— St.  Louis  Globe-Democrat. 

"  A  fascinating  tale  of  the  days  of  Queen  Jezebel,  in  which  the 
great  queen  is  portrayed  with  strength  and  vividness.  The  in- 
trigues carried  on  by  her  form  the  thrilling  interest  which  relaxes 
hardly  a  paragraph  throughout.     .    .     ." 

— Church  Review,  Hartford,  Ct. 

"...  must  be  classed  as  a  notable  and  forceful  novel.  The 
plot  is  woven  about  the  insurrection  which  resulted  in  the  proclama- 
tion as  King  of  Israel  of  Jehu,  son  of  Nimshi,  and  the  killing  of 
King  Jehoram  and  Jezebel,  the  *  Lady  of  Enchantment'  and  of  dark 
deeds.  .  .  .  Plots  and  counterplots,  giving  rise  to  numerous 
tense  and  dramatic  situations.     .     .     ." — New  York  Times. 

" The  narrative  is  interesting,  dramatic  and  full  of 

information  concerning  the  lives  of  the  people  who  dwelt  immedi- 
ately under  the  shadow  of  Divine  law." 

— Pittsburg  Chronicle-Telegraph. 

"...  an  unusually  striking  novel,  and  it  presents  the  his- 
toric scenes  to  the  reader  in  a  very  impressive  manner.     .    .     ." 

.    — Literary  World,  Boston. 

"...  an  entertaining  and  instructive  story  of  the  reign  of 
Jehoram  and  Jezebel,  and  of  their  downfall  at  the  hands  of  Jehu." 

—Review  of  Reviews,  New  York. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO..  91-93  FIFTH  AVE.,  NEW  YORK 


IN  SPITE  OF  ALL 

By  EDNA  LYALL 

AUTHOR  OF  "DONOVAN,"  "  DOREEN,"   "HOPE,  THE  HERMIT,"   ETC.,  ETC 


Crown  8vo,  cloth,  $1.50 


"  The  days  when  England  was  rent  with  civil  war,  when  Puritan  and  Cava- 
lier fought  for  Parliament  and  King ;  when  Cromwell's  Roundheads  struggled 
heroically  against  the  lawless  Charles  and  finally  won— this  is  the  period  chosen 
for  this  splendid  story  .  .  .  while  of  necessity  there  is  abundance  of  war,  the 
story  is,  above  all,  one  of  love — tried  and  triumphant  .  .  .  Finely  written, 
full  of  striking  pictures  of  men  and  events. 

The  book  is  full  of  people  with  whom  each  of  us  is  familiar  through  reading 
history,  and  every  one  of  them  is  drawn  with  rare  fidelity  to  truth.  The  tale 
should  have  a  hearty  welcome  from  all  classes  of  readers," 

—Nashville  American. 

"  The  romance  .  .  .  the  familiar  one  of  a  Royalist  maiden  and  a  Puritan 
iover  who  espoused  the  cause  of  the  people  .  .  .  is  of  deep  interest  and  the 
story  thrills  with  the  excitement  of  conflicts  and  adventures,  mingled  with  the 
gentle  influences  of  love. 

The  book  is  pleasing  in  all  respects,  and  the  story  is  exceedingly  well  told^ 
holding  interest  to  the  end."— Every  Evening,  Wilmington,  Del. 

"  This  story  of  532  pages  is  one  which  will  win  its  thousands  of  readers,  as  a 
story  of  love  and  trial,  war  and  separation,  must  when  handled  with  the  skill 
which  this  author's  training  has  given  her." — Mail  and  Express,  N.  Y. 

"  It  has  much  historic  interest  ...  A  pretty  romance  holds  the  reader's 
interest  all  through  the  book.  The  hero  is  a  Puritan,  while  the  girl  he  loves, 
Hilary,  as  sweet  and  wilful  and  true  a  maid  as  could  have  been  found  in  those 
stormy  times,  is  a  bishop's  niece  and  therefore  a  Royalist  in  all  her  sympathies. 
There  are  strong  dramatic  scenes  in  the  book — the  battlefield  and  the  political 
intrigue  of  court  life  are  portrayed  and  also  the  religious  strife  existing  at  the 
time.  The  bigotry  of  the  Church  and  the  fanaticism  of  many  of  the  Puritans  is 
well  portrayed.  The  book,  like  all  that  this  author  has  written,  is  interesting 
and  wholesome."— Republican,  Denver,  Col. 

"The  story  is  clean,  pure  and  wholesome,  has  plenty  of  adventure  and  a 
goodly  amount  of  love-making,  and  is  written  in  an  easy,  pleasant  strain  that 
makes  it  an  entertaining  book.  "—Baltimore  American. 

"Is  well  worth  the  reading." — Churchman,  N.  Y. 

"  The  high  moral  tone  of  the  book  and  its  historical  accuracy  will  commend 
it  to  the  better  class  of  novel  readers."— Congregationalist,  Boston. 

"The  latest  book  by  Edna  Lyall  may  safely  be  said  to  be  one  of  the  best  of 
recent  historical  novels."— Boston  Transcript. 


LONGMANS,  GEEEN,  &  00.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVENUE.  NEW  YOKE 


ONE  OF  OURSELVES 

By  Mrs.  L.  B.  WALFORD 

AUTHOR   OF   "  THE   BABY'S   GRANDMOTHER,"   "  LEDDY   MARGET,"   ETC.,   ETC 


Crown  8vo,  454-  Pagres,  $1.50 


*'  Never  before  were  better  portraits  made  of  middle-class  English  women 
than  we  find  in  the  wives  of  the  three  bankers,  Thomas,  Charles,  and  Stephen 
Farrell ;  ...  is  about  the  best  novel  Mrs.  Walford  has  ever  written,  and  as 
has  already  been  said,  her  characters,  all  of  them,  are  depicted  with  remarkable 
grace  and  virility."— Times,  Boston. 

"  An  entertaining  story  with  characteristic  piquancy,  shrewdness,  and  sensi- 
bility. She  has  ever  had  a  special  gift  for  the  description  of  what  may  be  called 
tasteful  love-making."— New^  York  Tribunb. 

"Is  an  amusing  English  story  ;  ...  it  is  full  of  amusing  incidents  and 
situations."— San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"There  is  great  variety  of  scene  and  incident  in  the  novel,  and  the  situ- 
ations are. amusing.  "—Argonaut,  San  Francisco. 

"A  very  vivacious  story  of  four  orphans.  .  .  .  The  conversations  are 
unusually  well  managed."— New  England  Magazine. 

"  This  is  a  story  of  English  life,  brightly  told,  a  little  on  the  long  side,  but 
interesting  and  entertaining  throughout.  Moreover,  it  is  altogether  wholesome 
reading,  which  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  many  stories  published  nowadays. 
Its  lessons  are  good.  There  is  one  for  young  girls  and  women,  and  one,  too, 
for  men.  Much  of  the  telling  of  the  story  is  managed  by  conversations,  and 
these,  though  oftentimes  very  amusing,  are  simple  and  natural— very  different 
from  the  smart  persiflage  and  elegant  wit-play  so  much  striven  for  by  many 
writers  of  modern  fiction.  '  One  of  Ourselves '  is  indeed  on  the  whole  a  very 
likable  story.  There  are  many  characters  in  it— some  pretty  ones— and  these 
are  all  portrayed  admirably  A  story  with  so  much  domesticity  in  it,  and  so 
little  that  is  stagey  and  melodramatic,  is  not  far  from  rare." 

— Bulletin  of  New^  Books. 

"  It  is  a  remarkably  good  character  study.  The  quiet  adventures  and  pleas- 
ant happenings  of  the  various  members  of  the  family  are  most  interesting,  and 
one  enjoys  the  society  of  a  wholesome  group  throughout  the  whole  story." 

—Financial  Record,  New  York. 

"  A  very  bright  social  study,  and  the  author  succeeds  in  thoroughly  arousing 

the  reader's  interest  in  the  love-making  of  William  Farrell,  who,  in  the  guise  of 

an  honored  member  of  society,  is  a  consummate  scoundrel." 

—Herald,  Montreal. 


LOUGMMS,  GEEEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  PITTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YOEK. 


THE   DISENTANGLERS 

By  ANDREW  LANG 

With  7  full-page  illustrations  by  H.  J.  Ford 
Crown  8vo,  $  1.50 


"...  Original  in  conception  and  prodigiously  clever  in  treatment 
The  'great  idea'  of  the  two  impoverished  young  Englishmen  to  whom  we  are 
introduced  in  the  first  chapter  is  to  organize  a  system  of  disengaging  or  disen- 
tangling those  youths  and  maidens  who  contemplate  marriage  against  which 
family  opposition  is  sure  to  be  brought.  .  .  .  This  may  not  seem  a  start- 
lingly  new  motive,  but  there  is  novelty  enough  in  the  author's  exploitation  of  it, 
and  as  he  warms  to  his  work  he  accomplishes  things  more  and  more  bewildering 
and  delightful  ...  if  this  amusing  book,  as  amusing  in  substance  as  it  is 
accomplished  in  style,  does  not  win  a  wider  popularity  than  anything  of  Mr. 
Lang's  has  hitherto  enjoyed,  we  shall  be  very  much  surprised." 

— Nev/  York  Tribune. 

"...  He  shows  us  how  two  ingenious  young  Englishmen,  aided  by 
various  pretty  girls,  set  up  an  agency  for  the  benefit  of  families.  .  .  .  Mr. 
Lang  has  succeeded  in  achieving  both  unity  of  theme,  and  variety  of  adventure, 
while  each  of  the  amusing  episodes  is  enlivened  by  a  humor  as  playful  as  it  is 
delicate." — San  Francisco  Call. 

"  One  of  the  most  amusing  books  of  the  season.  The  volume  is  a  capital 
one  to  take  up  at  odd  moments." — The  Living  Age,  Boston. 

"...  The  plot  of  Mr.  Lang's  story  is  original  and  is  developed  in  the 
inimitable  way  which  belongs  to  that  entertaining  writer.  It  is  really  an  en- 
joyable story.  .  .  .  It  is  a  new  line  of  fiction  for  Mr.  Lang,  and  he  has 
combined  humor,  fantasy,  and  a  study  of  society's  methods  in  a  very  clever 
production." — Herald,  Grand  Rapids,  Mich. 

"  Not  only  literature  and  love,  but  wireless  telegraphy,  submarine  vessels, 
seizing  a  woman  for  a  vast  ransom,  and,  in  truth,  everything  else  one  has  heard 
of  in  these  latter  days  is  at  least  touched  in  'The  Disentanglers."  There  is  a 
subtle  flattery  about  the  book,  too ;  Mr.  Lang  trusts  his  reader's  brains ;  he 
expresses  himself  in  hints,  not  in  surgical  operations." — New  York  Times. 

"•  The  Disentanglers  '  is  not  only  a  novel  that  possesses  the  merit  of  origin- 
ality, but  contains  a  series  of  parodies  of  some  of  the  popular  novelists  of  the 
day  that  are  most  admirable.  More  excellent  fooling  or  better  high-class  com- 
edy has  rarely  been  brought  together  in  a  single  volume." 

— Journal,  Chicago. 

••  .  .  .  It  is  a  merry  collection  of  merry  tales.  ,  .  .  All  in  all,  Mr. 
Lang's  book  is  highly  amusing,  and  it  will  doubtless  add  not  a  little  to  the  gay- 
ety  of  the  British  literary  nation."— Transcript,  Boston. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


DONNA   DIANA 

By  RICHARD  6AG0T 

AUTHOR  OF  "  CASTING  OF  NETS,"  *'  A  ROMAN  MYSTERY,"  EXa 


Crown  8vo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.50 


"  Richard  Bagot's  fiction  has  always  striking  qualities,  and  his  latest  novel, 
'  Donna  Diana,*  is  by  far  his  best    ...     as  a  story  it  is  sure  of  success.'' 

— The  Living  Age,  Boston. 

"  The  story  is  well  told,  full  of  color  and  vivid  scene." 

— St.  Louis  Republic. 

"Whether  Mr.  Richard  Bagot  has  really  penetrated  the  recesses  of  Roman 
Catholic  consciousness  we  may  not  know,  but  certainly  if  what  he  writes  is  not 
true,  it  has  a  marvelous  appearance  of  it.  ...  Of  the  story,  as  a  story,  we 
have  space  to  say  only  that  it  is  well  told,  and  holds  the  interest  for  its  own  sake 
unflagging  to  the  end."— Churchman,  New^  York. 

"  A  brilliant  and  charming  romance." — Scotsman. 

"...  A  Roman  story  with  a  vigorous  and  powerful  setting  and  an 
abundance  of  plot  and  intrigue.  It  is  a  mighty  good  story,  well  told,  and  there 
are  very  few  books  of  this  season  that  will  have  as  large  and  delighted  a  circle 
of  readers." — Herald,  Saratoga  Springs,  N.  Y. 

"  .  .  .  Equals  Marion  Crawford's  books  in  the  capable  and  certain 
handling  of  his  characters  in  the  picturesque  but  tortuous  highways  of  the 
Roman  world  of  to-day.  He  gives  a  detailed  view  of  the  domestic  customs  and 
social  life  of  the  aristocracy  and  tells  at  the  same  time  an  absorbing  love  story." 

—Item,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

"  .  .  .  It  is  an  absorbing  story,  containing  a  constant  conflict  between 
bigotry  and  open-mindedness,  between  evil  and  good.  Mr.  Bagot  takes  his 
readers  into  the  homes  of  his  Roman  friends,  and  with  much  care  and  detail 
describes  their  domestic  and  social  life,  such  as  is  rarely  given  to  a  foreigner  to 
observe." — Eagle,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 

"  .  .  .  There  is  not  a  particle  of  let-up  in  interest  from  cover  to  cover. 
As  one  enters  the  city  gates  via  the  first  chapter,  he  is  loth  to  quit  the  interest- 
ing company  of  friendships  he  makes,  both  secular  and  churchly,  until  he  knows, 
as  far  as  the  author  reveals  it,  the  destiny  of  each  of  the  personages  who  par- 
ticipate in  the  making  of  a  capital  story."— Transcript,  Boston. 

*'  -  .  .  Mr.  Bagot's  substantial  knowledge  of  Roman  hfe  has  contributed 
a  great  deal  toward  giving  vitality  to  the  social  groups  depicted  in  the  pages  of 
'  Donna  Diana,'  and  there  is  much  else  that  gives  the  romance  considerable 
human  and  artistic  effect."— Baltimore  Sun, 


LONGMANS.  GREEN.  &  CO.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


THE   MANOR   FARM 

By  M.  E.   FRANCIS   (Mrs.    FRANCIS    BLUNDELL) 

AUTHOR  OF  "  PASTORALS  OF  DORSET,"    "  FIANDER's  WIDOW,"  ETC. 


With  Frontispiece  by  Claud  C.  Du  Pre  Cooper.    Crown  8vo, 
cloth,  ornamental,  $1  .50 


"  Quaint  humor  of  the  richest  quality  is  written  in  the  pages  of  Mrs.  Blun- 
dell's  new  book.  .  .  .  When  two  great  and  well-to-do  cousins  plan  the 
welfare  of  their  names  needs  the  marriage  of  their  children,  the  trouble  begins. 
No  one  has  yet  shown  greater  skill  than  our  author  in  weaving  the  green  and 
gold  pattern  of  young  life.  The  growth  of  these  two  young  people  from  child- 
hood, the  betrothal,  the  almost  necessary  hitch  in  affairs,  for  such  is  human 
nature,  the  very  natural  solution,  Mrs.  Blundell  has  made  delightful,  humorous, 
and  wholly  artistic.  It  is  the  finest  of  character  drawing,  for  the  men  and  women 
are  not  too  proud  to  be  human,  nor  bad  enough  to  be  uncompanionable. " 

—Living  Church,  Milwaukee. 

"  A  real  treat  is  in  store  for  the  readers  of  '  The  Manor  Farm.*  .  ,  .  It  is 
a  naive  and  picturesque  story  of  English  country  life,  with  just  enough  dialect 
to  show  that  the  people  are  genuine  country  folk." 

— Churchman,  New  York. 

"...  A  delightful  story,  told  in  a  delightful  way.  It  is  what  you  may 
call  a  complete  story  .  .  .  giving  you  quaint,  rich  and  wholesome  descrip- 
tion of  men  and  things  on  an  English  farm.  It  is  one  of  the  few  novels  of  the 
year  worth  passing  around  the  family — or,  perhaps,  better  yet,  reading  in  the 
assembled  family."— Unity,  Chicago,  III 

*'  Wholesome  and  sweet  as  the  scent  of  growing  clover  is  the  atmosphere  of 
this  charming  pastoral  tale  of  English  yeoman  life  Written  in  the  easiest  and 
most  unaffected  style  it  narrates  with  much  animation  and  humor  the  fortunes 
of  two  branches  of  a  certain  family  of  farmer  folk.  .  .  .  The 'love  interest' is 
as  artless  and  innocent  as  it  is  engaging." — Independent,  New  York. 

"  A  pretty  rustic  love  story  .  .  .  The  story  is  thoroughly  readable  and 
clean."— New  York  Sun. 

"  .  .  .  The  story  is  excellently  written.  The  English  peasants  who  figure 
in  it  speak  an  odd  local  dialect  that  gives  originality,  never  unnaturalness  to  the 
style  ...  the  story  ends  pleasantly,  as  such  an  idyl  should.  The  book 
rings  true,  and  deserves  a  cordial  reception."— Record-Herald,  Chicago. 

"  This  is  a  wholesome  romance  of  the  Dorsetshire  country.  It  concerns  the 
endeavors  of  two  farmer  cousins  to  bring  about  the  marriage  of  their  son  and 
daughter  for  the  welfare  of  the  old  manor  farm.  The  plot,  which  is  a  simple  one, 
is  developed  with  naturalness  and  humor  .  .  .  her  pictures  of  the  homely 
life  among  the  farms  and  dairies  are  delightful." — The  Outlook,  New  York. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


FIANDER^S  WIDOW 

By  M.   E.  FRANCIS  (Mrs.   FRANCIS  BLUNDELL) 

AUTHOR  OF   "THE    DUENNA   OF  A  GENIUS,"   "YEOMAN   FLEETWOOD,"   ETC 


Crown  8vo,  ornamental  cover,  $1.50 


"Is  an  altogether  delightful  story.  ....  If  more  of  such  novels  were 
written,  pure,  wholesome  and  bracing,  redolent  of  everything  that  is  pleasant 
to  the  senses,  the  world  would  be  all  the  better."— Bristol  Mercury. 

"  An  idyll  of  Dorsetshire  life,  as  natural  and  fresh  and  wholesome  as  the  old 
stone  dairy  in  which  some  of  the  scenes  take  place.  .  .  .  The  book  is  redo- 
lent of  the  charm  of  English  country  life,  pure  and  sweet,  as  it  were,  with  the 
scent  of  the  gorse  and  the  breath  of  the  kine,  of  all  things  that  are  wholesome 
and  homely  and  good."— Commercial  Advertiser,  New  York. 

"  One  of  the  most  charming  of  recently  published  works  of  fiction.  .  .  . 
The  plot  has  an  appetizing  freshness  about  it,  and  more  than  once  the  unexpected 
happens."— Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"  Here  is  a  story  of  life  in  rural  England  well  worth  reading,  because  of  the 
curious  social  conditions  it  describes,  and  yet  these,  though  well  set  forth,  are 
only  incidental  to  the  main  theme,  which  is  a  dehghtful  study,  involving  much 
humor  and  no  tragedy,  of  the  belated  coming  of  love  to  an  earnest,  warm- 
hearted woman.  It  is  brightly,  lightly  done,  and  yet  holds  the  attention  and 
contains  sufficient  to  provoke  thought.' —Public  Ledger,  Phila. 

"A  truly  delightful  bucolic  comedy.  The  theme  might  almost  be  called 
farcial,  but  the  treatment  is  delicate,  quaint  and  graceful.  Old  Isaac,  the  rustic 
bachelor  who  narrowly  escapes  matrimony  from  a  sense  of  duty,  is  a  Dorset- 
shire original  and  deserves  to  rank  with  the  best  rustics  of  Hardy,  Blackmore, 
and  Philpotts.  The  story  is  prettily  told  and  is  wholesomely  amusing.  Mrs. 
Blundell  is  always  careful  in  her  literary  workmanship ;  this  tale  will  add  to  the 
popular  appreciation  of  her  work. " — Outlook,  N.  Y. 

"An  altogether  charming  tale.  .  .  .  There  is  not  a  dull  page  in  it,  and 
there  are  continuous  pages  and  chapters  of  the  brightest  humor." 

—Living  Church,  Milwaukee. 

"  A  beautiful  little  story.  One  is  at  a  loss  for  an  epithet  adequate  to  its 
charm,  its  simpUcity,  its  humor,  its  truth."- Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  A  bright  little  pastoral  comedy.  .  .  .  The  widow  is  a  rare  combination 
of  business  sense  and  sentiment,  a  combination  which  insures  her  both  prosper- 
ity and  happiness.  Reversing  the  usual  order  of  love  and  life  she  postpones 
romance  until  she  is  able  to  entertain  her  Prince  Charming  in  truly  royal  style. 
The  sly  efforts  of  one  Isaac  Sharpe  to  rid  himself  of  the  burden  of  matrimony 
are  genuinely  amusing."— Public  Opinion,  N.  Y. 

LONGMANS,   GREEN,   &   C0.»  9i-93   FIFTH   AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


CHRISTIAN  THAL 

The  Story  of  a  Musical  Life 

By  M.    E.    FRANCIS    (Mrs.   FRANCIS   BLUNDELL) 

AUTHOR  OF  "  THE  DUENNA  OF  A  GENIUS,"  "  MANOR  FARM,"  ETC. 


Crown  8vo,  $1.50 


"...  This  year  has  seen  several  attempts  to  produce  a  real  '  musical 
novel.'  That  of  Mrs.  Francis  is  one  of  the  best,  it  is  a  pretty  story  and  one 
which  will  give  no  little  inspiration  among  students  in  the  reading.  .  .  . 
In  '  Christian  Thai '  the  characters  are  such  as  we  all  know  and  can  well  under- 
stand.   .     .     .     It  is,  although  a  musical  novel,  very  human." 

— Musical  Life,  New^  York. 

"  .  .  .  We  have  seldom  read  anything  more  charming  than  are  parts, 
at  least,  of  this  picture  of  artistic,  semi-Bohemian  life  in  Germany  ;  she  has 
caught  the  very  spirit  of  it,  she  makes  one  feel  it  all — the  frank  good-comrade- 
ship, the  bubbling  enthusiasm  for  art,  the  childlike  disregard  for  conventional- 
ities. And  the  characters  are  delightfully  drawn,  too,  with  delicate  yet  incisive 
touches.    .    .    ."—Commercial  Advertiser,  New  York. 

"  .  .  .  The  temperament  that  goes  with  great  artistic  genius  is  well 
displayed  in  the  h  jro.  As  a  story  we  are  glad  to  say  that  the  interest  steadily 
heightens  to  the  end,  and  that  the  book  contains  pathos,  sentiment,  humor,  and 
the  other  characteristics  demanded  by  a  readable  work  in  fiction.    .     .     ." 

—The  6tudb. 

"  .  .  .  It  is  nevertheless  one  of  the  most  readable  of  Mrs.  Francis  Blun« 
dell's  (M.  E.  Francis')  novels.  It  centers  in  musical  circles,  in  the  love  affair  of 
a  young  musical  genius,  '  Christian  Thai '  of  foreign  origin,  and  a  young  Eng- 
lish girl  whom  he  meets  at  a  German  health  resort.  .  .  .  This  is  a  very 
good  companion  for  one's  resting  hours." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

'*  An  interesting  novel  in  which  love,  music,  and  human  weakness,  and  the 
waywardness  of  woman  are  strangely  and  cleverly  blended.  Each  chapter  is 
headlined  with  a  bar  of  music  and  the  entire  story  is  keyed  to  respond  to  the 
musical  theme.     Dramatic  and  absorbing.'' 

— Pittsburgh  Chronicle-Telegraph. 

"     .    .     .     There  is  a  fascination  about  the  tale  which  will  hold  the  reader." 

—Picayune,  New  Orleans. 

"...  The  book  is  as  much  saturated  with  the  art  musical  as  was  that 
delightful  book  '  Trilby  '  with  the  art  pictorial.  Even  the  chapter  headings  are 
excerpts  from  some  well-remembered  and  well-beloved  master.  It  is  a  sym- 
phony in  words  with  love  for  its  theme,  beautifully  ornamented  with  the  har- 
mony of  emotion  and  has  a  finale  radiant  with  peace,  goodness,  and  wedded 
love."— Army  and  Navy  Register. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,&  CO.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


